All My Worldly Goods
by TouchOfViolet
Summary: Canon divergent, B/E. Elizabeth Swann and Lord Cutler Beckett are a smart match. And sooner or later, they'll figure that out for themselves. Probably. At least, as long as certain blacksmiths and pirate captains don't have anything to say about it. Appearances from: James, Will, Jack, Barbossa, Davy Jones and the rest.
1. Prologue

**Summary: **AU, B/E. Elizabeth Swann and Lord Cutler Beckett are a smart match. And sooner or later, they'll figure that out for themselves. Probably. Cameos from: James, Will, Jack, Barbossa and the rest.

**Disclaimer: **I was listening to a lot of Imagine Dragons when I started this.

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**All My Worldly Goods**

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Prologue

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As the Governor of Port Royal's daughter, Elizabeth Swann was afforded a certain level of freedom other young women of her stature could not obtain. Weatherby found his daughter's sharp wit and even shaper tongue as something to encourage rather than something to deter. His beloved wife had died when Elizabeth was just a small child, and in his grief he found delight in allowing his daughter to participate in whatever activities she pleased.

She had lessons with her tutor in math, science, history and a variety of foreign languages. She met with a governess to learn proper etiquette and how - when necessary - ladies of her stature should behave. She sat in her father's study while he explained politics, both local and global, economics and the blossoming trade market that had brought them to Port Royal in the first place over games of chess. And she was always given a seat at the dinner table when Weatherby entertained, no matter who the guest was. She was quietly reminded to do more listening than speaking before each such event, but if she did speak her mind she was very rarely reprimanded.

It was not an usual circumstance then when she as invited to join her father and Port Royal's newest citizen, Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company, for dinner.

Her father was politely inquisitive about Lord Beckett's line of work, and their guest was not so shy that he was stricken unable to brag of his vast profits - for himself, the company and, even on occasion, their king.

"It's curious," Elizabeth said, speaking for the fist time that evening.

"Elizabeth?" Her father asked gently.

"How one section of our town can flourish so completely, and yet so many have been ravished by this most recent storm. I was just down at the church yesterday. It has become a residence for many who now find themselves homeless."

"Elizabeth," her father said again, his tone of voice different than before.

She smiled and nodded her head once in a feigned act of contrition. "Of course. The owners of the sugar plantations faired just fine - so perhaps there is hope after all."

Lord Beckett appraised her openly, his face altogether impassive but his fingers trailing over the lip of his glass of brandy. The left corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly when he said, "Perhaps there is."

xxx

Two days later, Elizabeth's most trusted maid - Estrella - entered her bedchamber with news and obvious delight on her face.

"Lord Beckett came to call on your father, miss," she whispered. She took the hair brush from Elizabeth's fingers and stroked the bristles gently through her hair. "We best prepare you, just in case."

Even though Elizabeth could hardly comprehend what her maidservant was implying, she allowed herself to be made up in one of her nicer dresses. They had just barely gotten her corset tied and the dress over her head when her father knocked on the door and stepped inside.

She walked out from behind the privacy screen and he smiled broadly at her. "Elizabeth, you are lovely."

She couldn't help but smile back at him.

Weatherby nodded at Estrella, excusing her from the room. When the door closed quietly behind her, he cleared his throat. "Lord Beckett is waiting for you in the garden. It's your choice, of course. Always. But…it is a smart match, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth dropped her eyes to her hands, but only for a moment. She sought out Weatherby's warm gaze. "Would it please you, Father?"

He smiled at her, eyes bright. "_You_ please me, Elizabeth. Always."

xxx

Lord Cutler Beckett did not speak to Elizabeth as she approached him in the garden, only acknowledging her presence with the barest of nods.

She stood beside him, looking out at the ocean that the view from the mansion provided. She wasn't quite sure what to expect or how to behave, but Elizabeth was not about to let him become aware of her uncertainty - or worse, her nervousness. She kept her chin up and her eyes on the ships in the horizon.

Weatherby used to take her on short voyages when Elizabeth was a young girl, always work related, of course. But she had loved it all the same. Now here she was, on the very precipice of adult hood, and she found herself wishing she'd been able to spend more time on a ship, out at sea, free.

Cutler offered her a beautiful white flower he had picked from the garden. She barely hesitated when she accepted it from him.

Their wedding date was set for four months later.

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**Giving Credit Where Credit Is Due: **I was largely inspired to write this after reading **Desert** by **labyrinths** here on this site. I would have stated that at the beginning of the prologue, 'cept I was scared ya'll might jump ship and read that first and _that_ would not bode well for me because it is so much better than anything I might ever hope to write.

Beckett has always been my favorite of all the PotC boys, but I never realized I could write a fan fiction for him. Or I was afraid it would ruin my chances with Tom Hollander. You know. As one would realistically worry. Anyway. I'm new here and I'm left wondering…

_Is anybody out there?_

**Spoiler** for next chapter: James!


	2. Time Spent

**Disclaimer: **Almost half of this story is already done - hand written in a notebook. I edit it as I type it up on Scrivener. For some reason, I wrote this chapter in present tense. Most of the other chapters (save this one and one other) are in past tense. I might change it later? But not right now. And I do not own PotC.

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**Chapter One: Time Spent**

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"You know, Father often lets me join him while he is at work."

Her fiancé is sitting across from her in the drawing room, waiting for both the governor and dinner. This is the eighth attempt in the passed two weeks since their engagement for the two of them to spend time together. Elizabeth used to picture courtship involving some level of romance. Instead, it feels very much like the business arrangement he makes no attempt of hiding that it is.

Lord Beckett raises a dark eyebrow. "Your father spoils you."

Elizabeth huffs and crosses her arms over her chest but doesn't argue with him because she knows it's true. Her father had never treated her differently than he would have a first born son. But she wasn't about to change who she was just because someone wanted to marry her.

She tells him as much moments before Weatherby steps inside and offers Lord Beckett a drink. She thinks she sees the corners of his mouth twitch, but he rises to his feet and accepts the glass.

The men discuss politics over dinner and she goes out of her way to either ignore her fiancé completely or to voice her disagreement with one of his opinions.

Her father whispers her name but Lord Beckett holds up his hand.

"What would you do then, Miss Swann?"

"If they had access to food they would not have been compelled to steal in the first place."

Lord Beckett studies her. It's the fist time she has ever seen him smirk. "Your answer to our jails being over crowded is to feed the poor."

"Yes," she says, chin raised.

"That is a very simple answer to a very complicated problem," he says. His smirk is replaced by his normal blank expression, but his blue eyes are so dark she wonders he is trying to set her on fire with his mind.

"I'm not so sure that's true," she counters, and the conversation changes direction when the servants enter with dessert and Weatherby tells a joke.

xxx

Elizabeth is taken by complete surprise when Estrella enters her room the next day.

"Lord Beckett sent for you, miss! He wants you to join him in his office."

"What?" Elizabeth thinks she says, but she's getting dressed and putting up her hair and tying a hat around her head.

"Here," Estrella says and presses a basket into her hand.

And then the carriage door is closed on her and all she can do is blink.

xxx

Lord Cutler Beckett has a beautiful office. Elizabeth lets her self in and takes a good look around. It's spacious and open with a terrace that overlooks the ocean. The walls are lined with books and there is a painting of a map of the world behind his well organized, stately desk.

"Good morning," Lord Beckett greets in monotone, busy with the papers set before him. "You brought something?"

Elizabeth was staring out at the ocean, caught in the middle of removing her hat, momentarily mesmerized by all the ships and their crews.

"Muffins, apparently," she say with a sigh and picks a seat where she can still look out at the sea. She takes a bite out of a muffin and lets her mind wander to Robbinson Crusoe.

Elizabeth is moderately surprised when her fiancé appears before her, blocking her view and interrupting her thoughts. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"Have you read this," he says and does not ask, handing her a book.

She finishes her muffin before accepting the proffered book. "Doctor Swift? As in Jonathan Swift?" He nods and she turns to the first page. "I've read Gulliver's Travels."

"Of course," he says and heads back to his desk.

She dives in to the book though the office is far from silent. Lord Beckett never stops working and different men stream in at odd intervals. Elizabeth ignores them, reading about the plight of starving beggars in Ireland. She is completely unprepared when the author of Gulliver's Travels offers a solution.

Elizabeth laughs out loud.

"This is satire," she says.

Lord Beckett studies her as if he isn't sure whether or not she is an idiot. "Yes."

"No, I'm making sure _you_ know this is satire and not your counter argument from last night."

He raises both eyebrows. "I am aware that Swift is being sarcastic when he suggests the poor Irish sell their children to the rich as food. However, your concern is _touching_."

Elizabeth laughs again.

xxx

She's almost finished with A Modest Proposal when Lord Beckett speaks again.

"Admiral. To what do I owe the immense pleasure?"

Elizabeth, again surprised she didn't hear someone walking around, does a double take when she sees James Norrington. She quickly rises to her feet to greet the admiral, but Beckett remains seated.

"James," Elizabeth greets with a bright smile on her face.

He bows his head. "Good afternoon, Miss Swann. I hear congratulations are in order."

If her smile falters, it's only for the briefest of moments, remembering how she'd danced around his efforts to court her only the previous year. But the guilt is expertly put away and her smile brightens once again. "Thank you."

Lord Beckett sets down his steel point pen and leans back in his chair. "I doubt you've ventured this way to wish my fiancée and I well."

James clears his throat and nods, hands clasped behind his back. "The _Sagittarius_ has just arrived. Apparently, they lost four sailors and all their cargo after firing on, and engaging in battle with, a vessel that was not flying an ensign."

That got Lord Beckett's attention. He's on his feet and at the terrace, surveying the ships making port.

"The enemy vessel?" He asks, voice neutral, but Elizabeth can see how tightly he grips the railing of the terrace.

"Dutch," James replies.

"Were they moving to attack the _Sagittarius_?" Elizabeth asks, forehead wrinkled.

James seems surprised that she's spoken. "It does not seem so, Miss Swann. The captain was wary of a vessel sailing near them without identifying ownership. When his request for identification was ignored, he ordered a cannon fired."

"And then lost," Elizabeth finishes.

James nods.

"Well, it was the captain's own fault then." Elizabeth sits back down and picks up another muffin. "Would you like one?"

James declines the baked good and then asks, "Pardon?"

"It seems to me that you should only ever engage in battle for two reasons: You are either under threat of attack or you know you can win." She shrugs a shoulder. "Otherwise, if you lose, it is _your_ fault."

James is speechless.

Lord Beckett turns to look at her, mouth twitching. He clears his throat and stands next to the admiral. "What my fiancée says is correct, even if the way she expresses her opinion on warfare displays her lack of any kind of adequate teaching."

Elizabeth huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, much to the amusement of James. Lord Beckett had managed to agree with her and call her stupid in the same sentence. She makes a show of picking up Dr. Swift's essay and returning to her reading.

"Send the captain to me, Admiral," Beckett dismisses James. "Elizabeth, I will escort you to your carriage."

It's the first time he has ever called her by her first name, and she is so caught off guard by the familiarity that she obeys the command and gathers her things.

"You may borrow the book," he says in what she is assuming is his magnanimous voice.

He takes the basket of muffins from her and offers her his arm. She narrows her eyes but places her hand on his elbow. They walk together at a slow pace out of his office and toward her carriage.

She wonders if perhaps she has lost her mind because she is disappointed that she's leaving.

"I'm not permitted to witness you reprimanding a captain?" Elizabeth asks, casually glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"Hn," he says and it's almost a chuckle. "I fear the captain will need more than a reprimand."

Lord Beckett helps her into her seat and hands her the basket. He makes to shut the door but Elizabeth quickly reaches forward, her fingers grabbing on to his wrist.

"You're coming for dinner, aren't you?"

He glances down at where she's touching him before looking back at her face, not bothering to mask his amusement.

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. Her voice is one note when she amends, "Please, honor me with your presence tonight at dinner, darling fiancé."

Lord Beckett removes her fingers from his wrist - and for a moment she feels a completely unexpected sting of rejection - but he raises her hand to his lips and drops a kiss on her knuckles.

"Well. Since you asked so nicely."

Elizabeth makes a face, annoyed and amused at once.

He takes a muffin from the basket. "Until tonight then, Miss Swann."

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**A/N: **Thank you for reading/alerting/reviewing. All feedback is welcome.

**Spoiler** for next chapter: It's a party, and Mrs. Beckett will dance with Will Turner if she wants to.


	3. Real and Imagined

**Disclaimer**: I feel like as long as I make the word disclaimer all bold like that I don't actually have to disclaim anything.

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**Chapter Two: Real and Imagined**

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Two months into the engagement, Elizabeth had discovered a new hobby: _Bothering Beckett_. Most of the time she was convinced he had absolutely no personality. But there were moments, usually after she spoke her mind in public, where his lips twitched or he cleared his throat and she could almost glimpse the man beneath the wig.

They had waited to throw an engagement party until his mother was able to sail over from England. Meeting her had been interesting - not that she herself was particularly interesting. She was widowed almost two decades previously and had not remarried. She was about an inch shorter than her son and their eyes were the same color blue, but her's shined with a joy that seemed be lacking from Lord Beckett's. Her curly brown hair was greying and there were deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. But what was interesting about Rose Beckett was the fact that she existed.

Elizabeth still believed in the back of her mind that Cutler Beckett had emerged from his mother's womb, fully grown, white wig and all.

Rose had approved of Elizabeth almost immediately. They had taken off together the day before for a bit of shopping and sight seeing. Mrs. Beckett had claimed she spent too much time in dreary old London not to enjoy the sunshine and the shore line when given the chance.

The two of them had been oh-so-graciously included in a conversation between Elizabeth's father, fiancé, Admiral Norrington, and one of the EITC captains.

"How blessed are you, Lord Beckett, to have such lovely women in your life," Captain Johnson had gushed, kissing Elizabeth's knuckles and then Rose's. "I'd be tempted to steal one of them away from you, if you didn't command such an impressive fleet of ships."

That backhanded compliment seemed to amuse the men and they began talking about the newest ship in Port Royal - the _Interceptor_. But Lord Beckett glanced over at his fiancée. Elizabeth noticed he was looking at her, so she crossed her eyes and stared at her nose.

Lord Beckett coughed lightly into his fist and then cleared his throat before taking a slow sip from his glass of wine.

Elizabeth didn't bother to hide her grin. That was about as close to laughter as Lord Beckett got.

He did not look her way again the rest of the conversation.

xxx

"Mrs. Beckett, please allow me to introduce you to my oldest friend. William Turner, this is my future Mother in Law."

Will bowed his head respectfully, placing a chaste kiss on Rose's knuckles. "It is a pleasure, my lady."

She smiled, eyes crinkling. "The pleasure is all mine, I am sure, Mr. Turner."

Will bowed his head to Elizabeth. "You look beautiful, Miss Swann. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials."

"Will," Elizabeth laughed as her father joined their circle. "How many times must I ask you to call me by my first name?"

His dark eyes locked with hers and she felt her heart break, just a little bit. "At least once more, Miss Swann. As always."

Weatherby laughed good-naturedly and clapped Will on the back, effectively causing the young man to drop his gaze from Elizabeth. "At least someone has a sense of propriety."

Rose watched Elizabeth from the corner of her eye.

The band Lord Beckett had hired struck up and Weatherby offered his daughter his hand. She took it with a smile that wasn't quite genuine.

As she walked towards the dance floor with her father, Elizabeth could hear Rose say, "You must tell me how you came to know my Cutler's Elizabeth!" and it did not take a genius to realize where Lord Beckett inherited his cunning, even if his wasn't quite so disarmingly subtle.

xxx

"You know, Elizabeth," her father said as they twirled around each other. "If you…well. What I mean to say, is…"

The music changed. She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other lifting up her skirts, and let him lead.

"Are you certain?"

Elizabeth sighed. "No," she answered honestly. "I'm not."

He lead her around the room and she caught sight of Rose dancing with Will. It wasn't so long ago that she had been day dreaming of what being engaged to William Turner would be like. She used to imagine that they would sail away together and go on an adventure to a far away land that she had only read about.

Her father twirled her, as the song called for, and when she was back in his arms she could see her real and undeniably not imaginary fiancé watching her, even as Admiral Norrington bent his ear. Cutler was older than, and decidedly less _pretty_ as, Will. But even though she had only known him for a matter of months, it was obvious that Cutler was exceptionally intelligent. He seemed to find it humorous when she spoke her mind, a least as much as he found anything humorous.

He asked her for her thoughts.

And he wasn't so bad to look at from the right angle, she supposed.

"But I'm not unhappy, Father," she said, pulling her gaze away from Lord Beckett to smile up at Weatherby. For a moment she was tempted to lie, to tell him not to worry because she wouldn't go through with it if she was unhappy. But she knew that backing out would be disastrous on all fronts. And she couldn't bring herself to lie to her father when he was smiling so warmly at her.

Weatherby exhaled loudly and held her just a little closer. "Good."

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**A/N: **Please, review! I am right at halfway finished with this story, but I'm feeling a little stuck, and all feedback is encouraging. Unless it's, you know, discouraging.

**Spoiler** for the next chapter: Back story!


	4. Motherly Advice

**Chapter Three: Motherly Advice**

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"Thank you for facilitating my escape." Elizabeth smiled, looking out at the ocean. It was a beautiful, clear day. Visibility seemed absolutely endless and she couldn't tell where the sea ended and the sky began. She sighed, happy, and adjusted her skirts to sit down on the sand.

Rose joined her on the beach, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap, but a sincere smile lighting up her face. "I can remember how overwhelming it often felt when I was planning my own wedding. And I had more than a year to prepare." Rose's eyes settled on Elizabeth, as blue and as sharp as her son's. "You must be feeling as if everything is moving much too fast."

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek, considering. "Yes. Sometimes it does, I suppose."

"Such a short engagement too," Rose laughed. "But that's my Cutler for you. When he sees something he wants, he refuses to wait for it."

Her laughter eased Elizabeth's nerves slightly and she found herself smiling at her future mother in law.

"What was he like?" She asked, catching Rose in mid laugh. "As a child, I mean." Elizabeth straightened her skirts around her legs, not sure why she suddenly felt embarrassed. "The wedding is only a few weeks away and I know so little about him."

When Elizabeth found the courage to look back up, Mrs. Beckett she was smiling fondly.

"Stubborn as his father," Rose answered. "Stubborn and too big for his own breeches."

"So not much has changed," Elizabeth said without thinking. Wide eyes turned to Rose who had, fortunately, broken out in another laugh.

"Just the color of the wig!"

Elizabeth laughed too, and eventually they settled into a comfortable silence.

Rose watched as a ship flying the EITC standard sailed away from Port Royal. "My husband had a very keen mind for business. Cutler had a…good role model, in that regard. You will want for nothing, Elizabeth."

She raised her chin and watched as the ship slipped over the horizon. Money was never something that mattered to Elizabeth - probably because she always had it. And it was the _last_ thing on her mind as her wedding date drew ever nearer.

"Cutler was smarter than his father and…my husband hated it. He died when Cutler was sixteen." Rose sighed softly, her fingers curled tightly in her lap. "Even after all these years, I do not think he has stopped trying to earn his father's approval."

Elizabeth almost gave herself whiplash turning to look at Mrs. Beckett, but the older woman was watching the waves.

"Let me give you a piece of advice? Something I wish I knew before I married my husband." Rose glanced at Elizabeth from the corner of her eye and waited for the bride to be to nod once before continuing. "It's the end result that matters. The way in which you get there is entirely negotiable."

She sighed again and stood, gingerly wiping sand off her dress. "What do you say we go spend your fiancé's money, hm?"

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**A/N: **I debated with myself about the little reveal here in the timing of the story, but, I kind of like it? And there won't be any more information like this for a little while. Your thoughts are welcome, of course.

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

**Spoiler** for next chapter: It's like raaaaaiiiiiiiiin on your wedding day!


	5. Rain or Shine

**Disclaimer**: Woah. _Italics_. Woah.

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**Chapter Four: Rain or Shine**

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_Of course_ it was raining on her wedding day. Why_ wouldn't_ it rain on her wedding day? The _one_ thing she had wanted, the _one_ thing she had requested, the only thing she _refused_ to compromise when planning the wedding was the location. Elizabeth wanted to be married outside, over looking the ocean. Every other decision was dictated by either Lord Beckett's opinion or that of the expensive planner who had been brought in from London. Not that Elizabeth's hand hadn't touched every detail. She found herself to be girlishly excited about being a bride. But nothing was entirely her own.

"He is the most powerful man in the Caribbean, Miss Swann," the wedding planner, Mr. Abbey, had said to her. She had scoffed and rolled her eyes in reply. "And if he isn't now he will be soon. The wedding must represent that. And I am sure you will agree with me that wearing white is not only the traditional choice, but the right one."

She could cry. Really, she might - even as she looked at herself in the mirror, admiring her beautiful (albeit very white) gown that had also been brought it from London. The bodice was golden in color and adorned with red glass beads made to look like flowers. The pattern continued down the front of her gown, peeking out between her petticoats. The edges of her sleeves and skirts were lined with the same golden material, the same red glass beads, and just a hint of lace.

Estrella handed her a threaded needle and Elizabeth finished the very last stitch on the hem of her dress. A sixpence was slipped in her shoe and she stepped into it, trying to ignore the rain splattering on her window. By now, everything must've been moved inside. No one had informed her of a change in location, but she supposed they didn't need to do so. The plan had been to get married in the gardens of her father's mansion. It was where they had gotten engaged, it was in full bloom, and it did have a breathtaking view of the sea. Moving the ceremony inside wasn't necessarily news that required the interruption of the bride getting ready.

She was whisked downstairs. Rose Beckett was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs with an umbrella in her hands. "Elizabeth," she smiled, all her teeth showing. "You look beautiful."

Rose must've noticed Elizabeth staring at the umbrella like she had never seen one before because Rose said, "Oh, this? Cutler had poor Mr. Abbey running all over Port Royal in this weather buying and borrowing every umbrella in town. Are you alright dear?"

"I." Elizabeth tried to blink away the stinging in her eyes. She squeezed her hand tighter around her bouquet of white flowers - the same type as the one Lord Beckett had given her when he proposed. Her other hand lightly touched the pearls around her neck - a gift from her new family.

"These were my mother's mother's," Cutler had said only two nights before as he hooked the clasp for her. "She agreed…they are yours now."

"My something old, then?" Elizabeth had asked, trying to peek at him over her shoulder.

His eyes locked with hers and he gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "If that is what you wish."

"Elizabeth?" Rose broke into her revere. "Are you ready, darling? There is a wedding that needs to go on, after all."

Servants had gathered in the foyer, frozen in place and watching her. Most of them she knew by name but there were some faces mixed in the crowd that she didn't recognize; members of Lord Beckett's staff were tasked to work at the Governor's mansion for the day. Elizabeth sought out her father and found him standing by the door.

He walked over to her and offered her his hand, eyes bright. "You look so much like your mother, Elizabeth."

Her eyes stung again as she took her father's hand. That seemed to be the signal for which everyone had been waiting. Mrs. Beckett was escorted outside and the servants scattered. Elizabeth could hear music coming from the garden.

"Are you sure, Elizabeth?" Weatherby whispered, his cheek brushing hers. She relaxed against him, pressing her forehead to his temple.

She didn't know what to say. There no longer seemed to be words of any kind. She kissed his cheek and took a step back.

He smiled at her. First placing a kiss on her forehead, he then lowered her veil - her something borrowed - over her face.

"You have blessed me with so much joy everyday of your life," Weatherby whispered, a hand on her cheek. "My hope…my _prayer_ is that, from this day forward, your husband may be able to say the same. I love you, Elizabeth."

"I love you too," she whispered, her chest tight.

He took her by the hand, squeezing her fingers lightly. A servant opened the door and Weatherby opened an umbrella, shielding both of them from the rain. She could still feel it misting on her face, cold and comforting at the same time.

Elizabeth stepped over all the chipped pottery she and a few of her friends had taken such joy in breaking only the night before. Glass crunched beneath her shoes. She grinned at Weatherby.

"I always hated that gravy boat."

He chuckled. There was no way to tell it had been a gravy boat, of course, the pieces of everything mixed up together in the damp, green grass by the front door.

Elizabeth set her hand on her father's forearm and they walked towards the garden, the music, and her groom.

xxx

The sense of delight that filled Elizabeth when she turned the corner and caught sight of the sea of umbrellas bubbled up in her and she giggled. Port Royal's _High Societ_y had gathered in her father's garden; soaked little old ladies and navy men with their powdered wigs damp and drooping on wet faces.

Lord Beckett stood in almost the exact spot where he had proposed. His suit was white and trimmed with gold fabric and red glass beads, a perfect companion to her gown. His wig managed to be in proper position, even if it did look to be a little wet. The umbrella in his hand was the same white as the flowers in her's.

Elizabeth couldn't look away from him as she walked down the aisle, only vaguely aware of the band changing tunes, the guests standing at her sides, the gray cloudy sky spreading over the choppy ocean behind him. He had done this for her. He had kept the wedding outside, even in the rain, because it was the only thing she had wanted from the entire ordeal.

She smiled broadly as she moved from her father's umbrella to Lord Beckett's, another giggle on her lips. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much and she was struggling to maintain composure. He flashed her a quelling look but it did nothing but make her smile brighter.

The pastor started speaking, but Elizabeth kept her eyes on Lord Beckett. She was so very grateful for what he did, positive there had been an argument he would have had to win against Mr. Abbey. Lord Beckett, however, did his best to keep his eyes on the pastor, only occasionally looking her way through narrowed eyes in a subtle attempt to keep her quiet.

"I, Cutler Andrew Beckett, take thee, Elizabeth Ann Swann, to be my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

The storm picked up. She could feel the wind start ruffling the skirts around her ankles. One of their female guests gave a loud "oh!" when her hat flew off her head. Elizabeth did her best to keep her expression neutral as she repeated the vows back, but she raised an eyebrow at Cutler when she pledged to "obey."

He gave her an altogether unimpressed glance, but his lips twitched.

The pastor took the umbrella from him and asked if he had the ring. Lord Beckett pulled it out of a pocket and took her left hand in his. The ring was gold, with an obnoxiously large diamond in the center of five smaller diamonds - made to look like one flower. She briefly wondered if she would even be able to bend her finger when wearing it.

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: in the name of the Father," he touched the ring against the tip of her third finger, "and of the Son," he pushed the ring onto her first knuckle, "and of the Holy Ghost." He placed the ring completely on her finger before looking up at her face that was now partially obscured behind her wet, sticky veil.

A gust of wind blew hard and instinctively Lord Beckett dropped her hand to grab on to his wig. Strands of Elizabeth's own hair had fallen out of her intricately placed combs and brushed against her cheeks. The rain started coming at them even from under the umbrella.

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing hysterically. He glared at her, exasperated, and she just grinned back. His exasperation only made the whole situation that much better.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the pastor announced as the unrelenting torrent came down on top of them. "Lord Beckett, you may kiss your bride."

Cutler lifted the veil over her head. His lips pressed against hers, soft and chaste, and she wasn't expecting the warmth that radiated from them to be such a direct contrast to the cool rain.

Their guests were applauding when he pulled away from her, though whether it was because they were happy over the marriage itself or that the ceremony itself was over was anyone's guess.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Lord and Lady Cutler Beckett!" The pastor proclaimed. Cutler offered her his arm and she pressed herself against him under the umbrella, even though it was useless at that point. They nodded at their guests - Elizabeth desperately trying not to laugh at the sight of them - and walked down the aisle, attempting not to run for the cover of the mansion and only failing a little.

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**A/N**(s): I found out about the destroying of chipped pottery thing while doing a google search about weddings from this time period which is, um, 18th century. Ish? Right. ..? And also, men wearing wedding rings is a relatively new thing sooooo that's why Lord B's not sporting one.

I reworked this thing almost a dozen times. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It kept trying to be ~mushy and I was all, _No! Damn you! No!_ And I beat it back into submission. Mostly. I think it's bordering on _almost mushy_, but that's definitely better than where it was 11 and a half versions ago. Trust me on this. Feel free to let me know where you feel this falls on the mushiness scale.

**A Big Thank You**: to the _guest_ reviewer (who has left a comment on every chapter!) and to _SkyPainter1212_! And to anyone else who has or will read/reviewed/alerted/favorited!

**Spoiler** for her next chapter: He's not denying her her wedding night in this universe.


	6. Friction

**Disclaimer: **_Italics.0_ **Also:** hard teen rating at the very end, guys. **And:** I basically just had _Demons_ by Imagine Dragons on a loop during the initial writing of this, BUT Arrested Development on while editing sooooo there you have it.

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**Chapter Five: Friction**

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Elizabeth tried to enjoy the warm water in the wash stand that her new chamber maid had brought up. She washed her hands and her face and dampened her hair to help untangle knots the rain storm left behind. She tried to focus on the water on her skin and on the steam rising in the air, but her mind raced and her heart pounded in her chest.

Lord Beckett had ridden in the carriage back with her to his home, but had excused himself to stop by his office.

Elizabeth sat down at her vanity, brought over just a few hours ago from the governor's mansion, and braided her wet hair. She wasn't upset that Lord Beckett had gone back to work, but she _was_ confused. The night before, after breaking chipped pottery and drinking just a little wine, her dear friend Maggie - from whom she'd borrowed the veil - sat down and divulged a few "tips." Sighing, Elizabeth turned and looked out the window. It was late. And while she wasn't particularly excited about implementing said tips, she was struggling with a certain sense of curiosity about the whole…_thing_.

But it was even more curious that he wasn't there, was it not? She had thought…well, _she_ had fun. There was something about all those incredibly proper people sopping wet and dancing in her father's home that made her smile at her reflection. At some point the powdered wigs, damp from the storm, had been removed. The servants had passed out towels and the women had shed their soaked shoes and stockings.

It was the exact opposite of the high class affair for which Mr. Abbey had been working so hard. Elizabeth had loved every minute, reveled in the impropriety of it all. And it hadn't seemed like Cutler was upset about it at the time. He had a way about him, just a general sense of being, in which it was obvious he felt he was better than everyone else anyway. She highly doubted Lord Beckett cared about fitting in, and expected the opposite might be true. He _wanted_ everyone to know that he was above them. This decidedly _eccentric_ wedding probably played right into that.

She traced her fingers over the braid in her hair, watching herself in the mirror. Her hands dropped to the clasp of the pearls around her neck.

_Was that it, then?_

He married the governor's daughter in undoubtedly the most original wedding Port Royal's finest had ever seen and then immediately gone back to work.

Elizabeth wasn't so foolish as to think they were in love or even in the process of falling, but…

_But what?_

He'd never kept it a secret that marrying her was "good business." Weatherby's name carried a lot of weight back in London, and as Governor he had a great deal of authority in Port Royal. Plus, Elizabeth was educated and could, when pressed, behave like a proper lady. And she _was_ pretty. She knew that.

She set the pearls down on the vanity and bit her lip. Hadn't they…rather, weren't they…_no_. She was _not_ under the delusion that she and Cutler were becoming friends. And if he only married her out of _ambition_, then that was that. Elizabeth wasn't stupid. She understood why he wanted her. And she made the choice to say yes; Lord Beckett didn't threaten, Weatherby didn't force. She _chose_ this. And she would accept it however it came. She knew who she was.

She was Elizabeth Swann.

…Elizabeth Beckett actually, but a recent change in names did not change who she _was_. She raised her chin and rolled her shoulders back, sitting straight as a board. This was her life and she would embrace the consequences and not run from them.

She left the seat of her vanity and moved to the bed. Her new bed. Cutler's bed. She reached out a hand to pull back the blankets but, no. No. She wasn't tired.

Holding on to her perfect posture, she walked passed the sitting area and perched on the window seat. The moon was peaking out around puffy clouds, illuminating the rain as it splattered against the glass.

Slowly, she pulled her knees to her chest. Carefully, she wrapped her arms around her legs. Gently, she placed her forehead against the window pane. Elizabeth watched the rain, taking slow, deep breaths.

There was only the faintest sense of panic reemerging when the moon slipped behind the clouds and the world grew dark. The real panic came when the bedroom door opened and Lord Beckett stepped inside.

xxx

Elizabeth did not jump; she set her jaw and languidly sat up, willing her muscles not to betray her.

Lord Beckett, for his part, was paying her very little attention. She watched, a bored expression carefully set on her face, as he removed his wig, revealing short brown hair. But when he started unbuttoning his coat, her eyes went wide. She quickly pretended to be fascinated by the rain again. Unfortunately, she could see his reflection in the window. He stripped down to his breeches, stockings, and shoes before moving to the wash stand. The water must've gone cold. She had a stray thought to say something about it, but she caught sight of long opaque scars criss crossing his back and her tongue felt numb in her mouth.

He sat down on the trunk before their four poster bed and began removing his shoes. "You'll forgive me for working this evening," Cutler stated casually. She wondered if this was his way of apologizing. She glanced over her shoulder to watch him finish with his stockings. "If it was not necessary, I would not have gone."

"I wondered when the orders were going to start," Elizabeth said, mostly to herself. "I only _just_ vowed to obey you before God a few hours ago. Now I must forgive you for leaving on our wedding day?"

Cutler seemed genuinely surprised by her, which set Elizabeth at ease. She stretched her legs out on the window seat and smiled at her toes.

"I believe you'll have to take your complaints up with the authors of the Common Book of Prayer," he said. Cutler rose and put his shoes away. "Considering it was published in 1549, you may have to consult someone with clairvoyance first."

She snorted, toes wiggling.

"Elizabeth."

Her heart jumped to her throat when she saw the hand he was holding out. She swallowed, hoping the action would force her heart back to her chest. She raised her chin and took his hand, standing on her feet and keeping her back straight.

She was not afraid.

"Look at me."

Elizabeth's eyes had been trained just over Cutler's shoulder, but they snapped to his face at his order. She took a deep breath.

She was _not_ afraid.

With his free hand, he gently cupped her chin. His warm breath smelled like brandy as it fanned across her face. She kept watching him, even as he closed what little distance there was between them. Cutler's lips were soft against her tightly closed mouth. His fingers ran up her arm and over her shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before curling around the back of her neck and tilting her head, slowly deepening the kiss.

And it was not until pain shot through her like she had been ripped in half, and all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and bite her tongue to keep from crying out, that Cutler spoke again.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, his breath soft on her face, his nose touching hers. "Look at me."

She forced her eyes open to obey his command, hard fought against tears slipping out and spilling onto the pillow. His eyes were a darker blue than she had ever seen and she stilled under their scrutiny. She barely registered the feel of the pad of his thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear.

It did not hurt when he moved over her again.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks to _lenokiie_.

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

**Spoiler** for next chapter: Written in French. Don't worry - not the chapter.


	7. Nothing Changed

**Disclaimer:** Hey, I don't own google translate either.

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**Chapter Six: Nothing Changed**

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Elizabeth awoke the next morning in her new bed, alone and naked, with the sheets tangled up around her waist. She wasn't surprised to find herself alone, the other side of the bed cold. If anything, she felt relieved. She wasn't actually sure how to speak to him…now. After everything.

Still. He couldn't have left a note? Woke her up when he left? Had breakfast with her? Even if she wasn't sure how she was going to talk to him after what happened last night, she kind of figured he might want to try again.

She sighed and got out of bed in search of her shift; it would have been nice to at least get a tour of the house. She hadn't really paid any attention when he dropped her off after their wedding yesterday, her nerves a wheezing ball of energy in her chest. And though her new chamber maid, Francie, had been kind and walked her from the front door to the bedroom, Elizabeth couldn't recall any details in the journey.

Francie apparently possessed a level of clairvoyance, because she chose that moment to knock on the door and enter. She bowed her head until all Elizabeth could see was curly gray hair.

"Mrs. Beckett is requesting you join her for breakfast, milady," Francie said. "Should be ready just as soon as you are."

Elizabeth smiled. "Rose?" She asked, surprised she had forgotten all about her mother in law.

Francie nodded and started gathering the necessary supplies for Elizabeth's toilette.

Elizabeth sat down at her vanity and began unfurling her braid, all the disappointment that she hadn't realized she was feeling slowly starting to fade.

xxx

The two of them spent the entire day together. Rose gave Elizabeth a complete tour of Lord Beckett's house (save for a few locked rooms that she could only shrug at) and only mentioned Cutler by name cautiously. This was a both a blessing and a bother to Elizabeth, who spent her time both craving new information about her husband and desiring to forget that he existed, at least for a little while. This was almost impossible, of course, because they were in his house and she was speaking with his mother and she was still a little sore from his, well, _ministrations_. But if he could go to work like nothing had changed, then she could live her life like nothing had changed.

The sun was still out when Lord Beckett returned home. Rose and Elizabeth were in the library; Rose busy finishing up a needlepoint, and Elizabeth reading the book Cutler had tossed at her a few days before their wedding. It was in French and she was struggling but she was determined to get through it without letting him know that. It seemed to be about a young woman named Henrietta who was either trapped in an arranged marriage or in a deranged carriage. Honestly, the deranged carriage thing was more interesting.

Elizabeth giggled and bit her lip, trying to dampen the noise. Rose didn't seem to notice. Unfortunately, Lord Beckett heard as he entered the room. He raised an eyebrow at her ever so slightly.

"You're finding the book amusing, Lady Beckett?"

"No," she answered, setting the book down next to her on the chaise longue. She met his eyes and smiled prettily. "Just delighted that you are home, my Lord."

Rose laughed at her needlepoint and Elizabeth's grin widened. Cutler kept his eyes on her face, walking towards her slowly. He plucked the book off the seat. His eyebrow raised higher when he realized she hadn't marked any pages to show where she had left off. She hadn't bothered - all of it ran together until she was daydreaming about a haunted carriage ride.

"Rusty on your French, darling?"

She narrowed her eyes, watching him flip the pages, a small smile still on her lips. "My French is just fine."

"Ah." He sat down next to her and placed the book in her lap. "J'ai pensé que vous pourriez apprécier le sort de Henrietta. Bien sûr, elle a empoisonné son mari à s'enfuir avec son véritable amour. Vous ne vous débarrasserez pas de moi aussi facilement."

Elizabeth pressed her chin to her shoulder, watching him and trying to look like she was following along. She pursed her lips and said, "Oui."

The corner of Cutler's mouth twitched. He was too close to her to be able to come up with something more clever than that. He smelled like brandy and ink and his eyes were too blue.

Rose sighed loudly and gathered her things. "Soyez doux, mon amour. Elle ne comprend pas pourquoi vous avez quitté sa seule aujourd'hui de tous les jours."

Cutler didn't bother to acknowledge his mother had spoken. Instead, he waited until he heard the library doors close to stand up. He approached the windows and clasped his hands behind his back.

"I had a ship due to come in several days ago. When it continued to not arrive, I sent out another ship to its last known port. Halfway there, they found the wreckage."

"Pirates?" Elizabeth asked, the word feeling foreign on her tongue.

"So it would seem," he drawled. He turned away from the windows and pinned her to her seat with his gaze.

Visions of the previous night flashed before her eyes - memories of his soft lips and his warm tongue and his wicked fingers played out in her mind, unwanted and uncalled upon. She felt her cheeks burn but did not look away from him. The room suddenly felt too small. The air seemed too thick to breathe.

When he took a step, her heart raced in her chest. When he sat down next to her again, she licked her lips. When he leaned forward, she expected him to touch her.

Instead, he plucked the book off her lap and said, "Read to me."

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**A/N: **Sorry I missed Monday's update. I re-wrote this a couple of times. I'm not sure how I feel about it now, but if I keep looking at it I'll go crazy. Feel free to use google translate - what they say isn't some big secret or anything.

I do have most of this story done now, but in a very rough handwritten first draft, and quite frankly the editing takes almost longer than the writing because I end up re-writing and obsessing and hating myself. So, if you could leave a comment - that would be super amazing. I do plan on finishing this story and getting it posted in a timely(ish) manner, but I've got an original project and a couple other fanfiction ideas that are stealing my attention. So, encouragement is lovely and would help me focus! Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed/favorited/alerted.


	8. Compromises

**Disclaimer**: This chapter brought to you by Tom Hollander's shorts in _Hanna_.

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**Chapter Seven: Compromises**

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"Curious, isn't it? That the man with the God Complex refuses to step foot in a church?"

Elizabeth gracelessly plopped into a chair in Cutler's study.

He was standing at a bookshelf, pulling out books seemingly at random and skimming through them. Some were then moved to his desk, but most were put back on the shelf.

"Why do I need to attend when I seem to be funding the entire organization myself?"

She smiled prettily at him, not that he bothered to look up from his book. What he said was true. Almost immediately after getting married, she started donating significant sums of money to the church that had been helping homeless locals after a terrible storm. She thought it was amusing, since that was one of the very first things they ever talked about. Now here they were, two months into marriage, and the pastor was talking about building an addition on to the church and calling it the "Beckett Wing."

"You _are_ a man of vast compassion," she nodded.

Cutler glanced up from the book he was holding long enough to raise an eyebrow at her. He snapped the book closed with one hand and put it back on the shelf.

"But it's a different church." Elizabeth slipped her shoes off and tossed her legs over the arm of the chair, reclining parallel to the seat.

Cutler was running his index finger over the spines of the books, lips moving as he read the titles to himself. "Am I to start making donations there as well?"

She raised her hands in front of her face and studied her cuticles. "Doubtful. The church my father goes to is not the church that ministers to Jamaicans. It is just another social gathering for bored housewives and Navy men." Elizabeth bit off a stray cuticle and stared at the ceiling. "Father thinks we will fit in for some strange reason."

He scoffed - a quiet exhale of breath that was almost a chuckle. "If you are _bored_, dear wife, feel free to find a hobby."

Elizabeth made a face at the ceiling. Truth be told, she _was_ bored. Rose had left over a month ago, and though Cutler gave her basically unlimited access to his money and mostly free reign to wander as she pleased, she often found herself restless and waiting for him to come home.

"But I already have a hobby! I move your things around when you aren't looking and then see how long it takes you to notice."

"Perhaps you can be trained in something useful," he said, fingers scanning over an open book in his palm. "I once saw a monkey wear a hat and dance for tips."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, swallowing a laugh. "I don't know," she said with a forced sigh. "I don't really look good in hats."

"Can't argue with that."

Elizabeth grabbed one of her shoes off the ground and threw it at him.

Cutler stared down, unmoved, at the shoe that had struck him in the leg. "A convincing argument as always, Lady Beckett." He set the book he was holding on his desk and turned back to the shelves.

She crossed her arms just under her breasts, swinging her feet so her heels clunked against the chair. "For that I'm going to buy a whole wardrobe of new hats."

"Of course."

All at once, she sat up straight. "I propose we strike a bargain."

That seemed to grab his attention. "A bargain?" He repeated, his low voice moving slowly over his lips. He walked away from the bookshelves and studied her, his blue eyes dark. "What kind of a bargain?"

"In exchange for attending church tomorrow with my father and I…"

Cutler stood over her. "Yes?"

"Well, there has to be _something_ you want from me."

He clicked his tongue. "You've just broken a cardinal rule of negotiating, Lady Beckett. Never enter into said negotiations without a clear idea of what your opponent desires. Or, at least possess the skills necessary to figure it out quickly."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "And what could be quicker than simply asking you what you want, _my Lord_?"

He smirked, moving to stand behind his desk. "Very well. Come here."

Elizabeth kept her narrowed eyes locked on his face as she approached him. She was filled with apprehension - he hadn't come out and said what he wanted from her, and she was wary of giving him more than she got in return.

She stopped just before him, close enough to see the stubble on his chin and the flecks of green in his eyes. Cutler's gaze did not falter from her face. He raised a hand and she could see ink smudged onto the tips of his fingers as he lightly grazed her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear. He stepped closer to her, she could feel his breath on her lips, and reached passed her to something she couldn't see.

He stuck his tricorn hat on her head and took a step back. "Dance."

xxx

Elizabeth could feel Lord Beckett's boredom rolling off him in waves. She was sandwiched between her husband and her father in a pew towards the center of the church. Sure enough, it was filled with Port Royal's own version of High Society (Buccaneers need not attend) that made up her father's social circle. Her father was delighted they had joined him at church, first making a very loud joke about the newlyweds finally seeing daylight, before ushering them to his usual pew. The pastor himself seemed to be half asleep as he read from the scriptures, and it was getting increasingly harder for Elizabeth to stay awake. But she was so uncomfortable in her corset, her posture ridged straight in the hard pew, the air around them so still and hot, that not even the pastor's monotone reading could get her to nod off completely.

She could see Lord Beckett glaring at the pastor out of the corner of her eye and smiled. He wasn't really glaring at the poor man, just in his general direction. Up until this point, her husband always avoided unnecessary social interaction with the big wigs of Port Royal. Elizabeth assumed he felt that since he was better than they were, why make small talk? So being stuck in a hot room with the lot of them, while the most boring of all of them preached of atonement, was most likely not Lord Beckett's idea of a good time.

She turned her head just so to spare her husband a smile. He glared at her, sweat trickling down from under his wig to gather on his forehead. Suddenly, Elizabeth started enjoying the sermon.

After the service, most people seemed to gather in groups outside the church doors. Lord Beckett and Weatherby were stopped by the pastor, but Elizabeth noticed her friend Maggie Dunwell chasing after her one year old son Thomas Jr. Elizabeth stepped in front of TJ's path and swooped him up in her arms.

He laughed, his chubby fingers curling in her dress.

"I got you!" Elizabeth cooed and rubbed her nose softly against his.

Maggie had been Elizabeth's friend since she first arrived in Port Royal with Will. A few years older than the pair of them, Maggie was the "mother" of the group. Even though she was smaller in stature than they were, she never had trouble bossing them around. She smiled gratefully when she stopped in front of Elizabeth, her dark eyes shining bright. "Thank you. His father was supposed to be watching him. You know how that goes."

Elizabeth ignored TJ tugging strands of her hair loose. "Where is Captain Dunwell?"

Maggie jerked her thumb behind her blonde head and Elizabeth noticed Admiral Norrington speaking with Captain Dunwell. He was a little shorter than the admiral but his shoulders were broader. His square jaw was clean shaven and TJ had inherited his father's chin dimple.

"How are you adjusting to married life?" Maggie asked, drawing Elizabeth's attention back to the conversation at hand. "Is it everything you dreamed it would be?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "It's fine."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Well. Fine is better than the opposite, I suppose."

TJ placed a wet, open mouth kiss on Elizabeth's neck. "Fine is better than not fine?" She clarified. "Your wisdom knows no bounds, Mrs. Dunwell."

Maggie laughed, pressing her palm against her forehead. "I'm sorry! Being pregnant messes with my mind."

Elizabeth paused in her tickling of TJ's stomach, shock moving over her in one giant wave. "Pregnant?" She repeated, too stunned to say anything else.

Maggie grinned sheepishly.

"Oh!" Elizabeth's thoughts returned to her all at once and she broke out in a huge smile. She hugged Maggie with her free arm. "_Congratulations_!"

"You told her, I see," a male voice announced from behind them.

Elizabeth let go of her friend to smile up at Thomas. "You scurvy dog."

TJ wiggled out of her arms and ran to his father.

"I beg your pardon," the captain said with faux-offense, bending down to pick up his son. He stood in-between the two women, the corners of his lips twitching.

"Forever all I heard was how Maggie would never, _ever_ have another baby." Elizabeth glanced between the two of them. "Whatever happened?"

Thomas stood up very straight and puffed out his chest. "I am very convincing."

Maggie lifted up her hand flat in front of her and then shook it from side to side as if to say, "eh."

Elizabeth laughed.

"What did I miss?"

"Mr. Turner! Thank goodness," Thomas placed a hand on Will's shoulder, drawing him in to the circle. "These women are banding against me!"

"Ah," Will nodded sagely. "Nothing new then."

Thomas sighed loudly, head drooping.

Maggie and Elizabeth giggled at his dejection. TJ reached for Will, who gladly took him.

"We were just letting Elizabeth know that we are expecting another baby," Maggie told Will, stepping closer to him and dropping her voice like she was letting him in a big secret.

The young blacksmith smiled softly at her, sparing a quick glance at Elizabeth. "Congratulations. Though I must admit I am a bit surprised." He shifted his hold on TJ, moving him onto his left hip. "You swore up and down that you would never, _ever_ have another baby."

Maggie had the decency to blush. "Well. Things happened."

Thomas puffed his chest out again. "Indeed they did!"

Elizabeth covered her face with her hand and groaned. "Please."

TJ kicked Will in the gut - eliciting a soft grunt from the young man - and wiggled his way out of Will's arms.

"Yes, that's enough for now," Will agreed, holding on to his stomach.

Thomas smiled fondly at his son who was now safely nestled in Maggie's arms. "He's spirited."

"That's what they're calling it," Will muttered out of the side of his mouth to Elizabeth.

She giggled, watching his profile. He had cleaned up well for church - his brown hair tied in a neat queue at the base of his neck, the dark hair around his mouth neatly trimmed. His outfit was simple, modest and befitting of his station, but he was by far the most handsome man at church.

A warm hand pressed against the small of Elizabeth's back, tearing her gaze away from her childhood friend. Lord Beckett was at her side, his thumb running over the fastens on her dress.

"Captain and Mrs. Dunwell. Mr. Turner. Good to see you."

Maggie gave a small, awkward curtsey with TJ in her arms; Thomas and Will both bowed their heads and offered a "Lord Beckett" in return.

Elizabeth smiled at her husband, pushing away an annoying feeling of guilt that was trying to crawl over her. Will was her friend. She did not need to feel guilty over the fact that was handsome. That was God's doing, after all, not her own.

"Maggie and Thomas are expecting another child," she told Lord Beckett.

His face remained impassive as he extended a hand to Thomas. "Congratulations," he said in his most polite tone, which wasn't really that different from his usual bored one, but the offer of physical contact softened it just a little.

"We should really be thanking you," the captain grinned, shaking Lord Beckett's hand. "Considering it was the alcohol at your wedding-"

"Thomas!" Maggie interjected in a harsh whisper, blushing scarlet.

The captain shrugged, grin growing broader. "We are all expecting a similar announcement from this one very shortly," he winked at Elizabeth.

Her mouth dropped open. "Thomas!"

Will rubbed the back of his neck and stared at his feet.

Maggie hit her husband lightly on the arm. He shrugged again and took the now dozing TJ from his wife. "What?"

"I," Will cleared his throat. "I need to head back to the shop. It was nice to see you all."

Elizabeth watched him leave, the joy of the moment seeming to leave with him. She wasn't sure why that was.

"We should be going as well," Lord Beckett said, his hand pressing on the small of her back, wordlessly guiding her away. "Congratulations again."

Elizabeth waved at the Dunwells but obediently kept walking.

"Some friends you have," he muttered in her ear.

She smiled brightly. "I know!"

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**A/N**: Hey, how's it going? I wrote the fist half of this chapter weeks before writing the second half, so if it seems disjointed, you know. My bad. I had initially started to write the second half during the writing of the first (are you following this?) but decided it wasn't necessary. But then! It became necessary. For things. In the future. Future things. And so, I kind of hate it. But the future needs it.

In my head Maggie is Penny from the Big Bang Theory, only shorter and with an accent.

I think I used perpendicular wrong. :( ETA: I fixed it! :D

Thank you for reading/reviewing/alerting/favoriting.

**Spoiler** for next chapter: Checkmate.


	9. Checkmate

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. I don't even own a chessboard! All I know is that Ron Weasley and President Bartlet were big chess fans, but I don't even own them.

He was the best president.

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**Chapter Eight: Checkmate**

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Elizabeth entered Cutler's study first, followed by a young woman pushing a cart. He didn't bother glancing up from the papers before him, accustomed to being served tea after arriving home for the day, so he didn't notice his wife until she was standing directly in front of the desk.

"What brings you here, Lady Beckett?" Cutler asked, his tone of voice suggested he didn't really care if his question was answered, his eyes back on his work.

"I wanted to have tea with my husband," Elizabeth replied, carefully honest.

The young woman - Esther - rolled the cart up to Cutler and then curtsied out of the room.

He sighed a long suffering sigh and tore himself away from his paperwork. "Very well."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She helped herself, concocting the perfect mixture of tea and sugar and a little milk and when she was about to perch herself on her usual chair, Cutler spoke.

"Do you play chess?"

Elizabeth used to think she was good at chess, but after two games with Cutler she realized either he was exceptionally amazing or her father often let her win. She lost the first game in less than three minutes, the second closer to ten.

They were well passed ten minutes into their third game. The tea had grown cold and sat forgotten on the tray.

Elizabeth watched as he trailed his fingers over his remaining pieces, fascinated by the smudge of ink on his index finger. His other hand held his chin. His expression was hard and yet thoughtful and she grinned - she was finally proving herself to be a decent opponent. Losing the first game that quickly had been embarrassing.

"You're cheating," she had accused.

"Only if you define _cheating_ as marrying beneath one's station," he had replied and then ignored her when she stuck her tongue out at him.

She watched him now, carefully pondering his next move, and decided on hers.

"I've been considering hobbies."

Cutler kept his ink stained finger on his knight. "And here I thought we determined you possessed less skills than a dancing monkey."

She made a face at both his comment and his move. She bit her lip in thought, peering at the board, trying to take the whole of it in even though she could feel Cutler's eyes on her. Making an aggressive move she hoped he would find surprising, she asked, "How do you feel about dogs?"

"Dogs," he repeated, watching her and not the board.

She smiled prettily at him, eye lashes fluttering. He predictably made a face like he tasted something sour and turned his attention back to the game. "We always had dogs growing up. They were useful for hunting small game."

He took out her knight and she grimaced. "So you wouldn't be opposed to having one, then?" She asked, making her next move quickly.

Cutler furrowed his brow at his chessmen. "I suppose…" his bishop followed hers. "I suppose I would be agreeable to that."

"Excellent!" Elizabeth moved her queen. "Check. Tomorrow I will see to procuring a cat."

Cutler's mouth twitched as he moved his king.

Elizabeth checked him again.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Cutler called, "Enter!" as he moved his king to safety. A man with long, brown hair tied at the base of his neck stepped inside and closed the door behind him. As he walked towards her husband, he spared Elizabeth a glance and a small nod of his head. She nodded back, eyeing him curiously. He was a little older than Cutler, tall and thin, with unfortunate pockmarks on his cheeks.

Cutler didn't bother to look up from the chess board to make introductions. "Mr. Mercer, my wife. Elizabeth, Ian Mercer."

Mr. Mercer bowed his head to whisper in Cutler's ear, and Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, unable to hear anything that was said even as close as she was.

"Very well, I will be right there," Cutler said in reply to whatever Mr. Mercer whispered. The older man stood up straight and left the room, meeting Elizabeth's gaze with a delicate sneer.

Her husband sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'll concede this game. But tomorrow I will not go so easy on you."

Elizabeth snorted quietly and helped him reset the board. He moved to his desk and grabbed his hat and great coat. "I expect that I won't return home until very late this evening. Try hard not to miss me too much, Lady Beckett."

She bit back a laugh and instead stuck her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. "Don't work too hard, my lord. You know I worry so!"

"Hn," he said, and it was almost a chuckle. He left his office without another word or even a look back, but Elizabeth couldn't stop the grin that lit up her face if she tried.

The next day, she set out early for the express purpose of finding and purchasing a cat.

She bought a horse instead.

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**A/N**: Please review!

**Spoiler** for next chapter: "How fortuitous."


	10. Fortuitous

**Disclaimer:** I know as much about horses as I do about chess. Thanks, internet!

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**Chapter Nine: Fortuitous**

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Elizabeth was so pleased with herself that she smiled brightly at each and every one of her husband's chess pieces. The day before, of course, Cutler had bested her two out of three. But he had extended an invitation for her to come back to play again and she had agreed - and that was _before_ she had a trump card.

She couldn't wait to bring up the horse she bought just as she was getting ready to take his bishop.

He entered his study, right on time, and she was so happy she couldn't help but smile as brightly at him as she had been at his chessmen.

Cutler appraised her openly, one dark eyebrow arched. "You bought a horse."

Elizabeth's face fell. "Who told you?" She demanded, shoulders slumped. "I only got him a few hours ago!"

"That's neither here nor there," Cutler stated. He walked over to his desk, shedding his hat and great coat on the way.

"I disagree!" Elizabeth was on her feet. "I had plans to foil you!"

Cutler froze, his hand hovering over the brandy he kept on a silver tray near his bookshelves. Elizabeth could see the corner of his mouth twitch while he poured himself a drink. "_Foil _me?"

She crossed her arms under her breasts. "In chess."

"Of course. Would you like a drink?"

It was Elizabeth's turn to freeze. He had never offered her a drink before. The fact that he poured her said drink without waiting for her answer, however, suggested it hadn't actually been an offer.

Elizabeth took a sip, willing herself not to react to the way it burned her throat, and waited for Cutler to say something. But he did not. He didn't even look at her. He simply took his drink and grabbed a book off the shelf and sat behind his ridiculously large desk.

"He's beautiful," Elizabeth told the brandy in her hands.

Cutler leaned back in his chair, eyes on his book. "I'm sure."

"Thoroughbred, of course."

"Of course."

"Care to guess what I named him?"

He sighed and turned a page. "Not particularly."

She took another sip of her drink, studying him. He was so good at flustering her. She wondered if she couldn't foil him at chess, could she in some other game? Elizabeth stepped towards his desk, one foot in front of the other.

"I wasn't even looking to buy a horse, it's been so long since I've ridden one. But the trader was there and made a great offer."

"How fortuitous."

She giggled. The sound of it must have surprised Cutler because he glanced up at her.

"That's what I named him. _Fortuitous_."

Cutler kept his eyes on her as he finished off his drink. Elizabeth sipped her brandy. She dropped her gaze demurely, licking her lips and setting the glass down on his desk.

He rose from his seat, his attention still locked on her, and refilled his brandy. Elizabeth saw her chance and took it, walking to him with her hands clasped behind her back.

"You'll have to visit the stables with me one day," she said, slowing her gait but not pausing in her approach. "Once I've had some practice riding him, of course."

He narrowed his eyes at her even as he took a mouthful of his drink.

She smiled what she hoped was her most disarming smile and planted her feet in-between his. "I must admit, I was looking forward to surprising you. But once again, you've proven to be steps ahead of me."

Cutler's blue eyes were piercing, but his expression remained impassive.

She pressed closer and tilted her face towards him, lips parted. "How do you do it? How do you know what I'm thinking before I've even thought it?"

"Superior intellect," he answered. She thought he might step away from her, but he cleared his throat and set his glass on the silver tray. His breath was warm and smelled like brandy when it fanned across her face. "I would have thought that much to be obvious." His voice was low, almost thick in his throat, and a spark of delight lit up in her chest.

"Apparently your intellect is so superior that I am unable to recognize it." She pushed a little closer to him until her chest brushed against his. His eyes had gone dark and were locked on hers; assessing, evaluating, curious. She glanced down at his lips and he smirked.

Elizabeth sighed, knowing he would feel it, and looked at him under dark lashes. "It's too bad." She stepped away, grinning mischievously. "I might have liked your intellect, if only it was recognizable." She turned to leave, but Cutler's hand darted out and grabbed her elbow.

"Lady Beckett," he said, his voice husky and the smirk still on his face, "it appears you need to learn how to finish what you start."

Elizabeth fluttered her eye lashes, a pretty smile on her face. "But who would teach me?"

The kiss that followed wiped the smile off her lips.

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**Spoiler** for next chapter: Well, this was the last happy chapter for a little while. Things 'bout to hit a snag, boys and girls.


	11. Casually Cruel

**Disclaimer**: So at this point in writing I had drifted over to The Band Perry (Done, Chainsaw, Forever Mine Never Mind) and Miranda Lambert (Mama's Broken Heart, Nobody's Fool). This change in tunes might explain this plot development. Haha. "Plot." Right.

I don't own PotC, The Band Perry, Miranda Lambert, or a real plot.

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**Chapter Ten: Casually Cruel**

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Elizabeth had never thought strolling through the streets of Port Royal alone to be dangerous. Occasionally, she went shopping with a friend or a servant attended her, but she considered herself a free person and flitted about as she saw fit. Her father used to sigh and make her promise to at least inform someone she was about to disappear, but that seemed to negate the whole point. Cutler was the opposite - completely unfazed as to how she spent her time.

She regretted now never heeding her father's advice, because she had the distinct impression she was being followed.

She took a hard right, cut through a crowded street, and ran down an alley until she reached a familiar area. Elizabeth was breathing heavy when she slammed the doors of the blacksmith's shop closed, pressing against them to keep from someone entering in after her.

"Elizabeth?"

Her disheveled and abrupt appearance must have startled Will because it was the first time he had said her first name since they were children.

"Elizabeth, what's wrong?" Will approached her and locked the doors without further clarification. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and grime. She had the strongest urge to reach up and run a finger over the patch of hair on his dirty chin.

"I think I'm being followed," she said instead.

"Followed?" echoed Will. He pushed her behind him and carefully unlocked the door. He pressed his index finger against pursed lips and she nodded in understanding. Ever so slowly, he opened the door and peaked outside.

Elizabeth tried to lean over him to peak too, but he was finished and the door locked once again before she had been able to see anything.

"Well?"

He sighed and searched her face. "You might be right."

Her eyes went wide. "What did you see, Will?"

"I thought…well, there appeared to be a dark haired man_ lurking_, but when he saw me he slipped into the shadows."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "Dark haired man?" She repeated. "What did he look like?"

"Erm," Will grimaced. "I didn't…he was slender, a little older…he seemed to have pockmarks on his face? But that was all-"

"Mercer!" Elizabeth gasped, mind racing. "Mercer was following me. But why-" her eyes flashed, anger flooding through her. Elizabeth's hands curled into fists at her sides and she stomped down the steps into the heart of the shop. "That bastard! That _bastard_!"

Will visibly flinched. "Lady Bec-"

"He's been having me followed this _entire_ time! And just letting me think he simply didn't care - was _far too busy_ - to bother with how I spent my time. And do you know? A few days ago Father took me to visit James and he shows up all smug and condescending and I chalked it up to coincidence!_Coincidence_!"

Elizabeth grabbed a finished sword off the circular stand and stormed back up the stairs.

Will jumped out of her way. "Now, Lady Beckett-"

She shoved the door open and marched outside, sword in her hand and looking for a fight.

"I don't think you should be - _Elizabeth_!" Will ran to catch to her. "I don't think you should be walking down the streets of Port Royal with a sword like-"

"Mister Mercer!" She called out. "You better tell your boss I'm coming and he is not going to like it when I get there!"

Several passerby gaped at her, scandalized, and she glared at them, too irate to care about manners. Will was behind her, trying his best to wave politely at anyone who might be offended.

Elizabeth was so angry she could feel her blood boiling beneath her skin. The EITC offices came into view and she tightened her grip on her stolen sword, bumping into people in her haste.

"Sorry," Will apologized for her. "So sorry. Elizabeth-"

"I'm going to kill him, Will." She swore, knocking her shoulder into the arm of some random man. "I'm going to _kill_ him!"

"Yes, fine. But perhaps such a public execution - sorry, sorry - could - hello Mrs. Franklin, how are you today - Elizabeth, wait!"

But she was too enraged to listen to Will's bumbling attempts at apology and reason. Elizabeth marched into her husband's office like a soldier going off to war.

"Ah, gentlemen. Allow me to introduce my lovely wife, Elizabeth." Lord Beckett was seated comfortably behind his desk, two Company captains speaking with him. His voice was so calm, so sarcastic, she wondered if Mercer really had managed to warn him of her impending arrival.

"And young Mr. Turner is here as well, I see."

Elizabeth didn't have to turn around to know Will was hovering outside the door.

"Hello," he greeted meekly.

Lord Beckett smiled at his wife and it sent a shiver down her spine. But she refused to back down. She set her jaw and kept her posture rigid straight.

"How delightful. If you'll excuse us," he waved the captains out and they closed the door behind them, leaving husband and wife alone.

"Explain yourself," Elizabeth demanded.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you'll need to be more specific in your demands, Lady Beckett."

She wanted to growl at his pompousness. Instead, she held on to the sword as tight as she was physically able, her knuckles turning white around the handle. "You've been having me followed."

Lord Beckett left his seat with a dignified sigh. He had to walk passed her to reach the cart where he kept his assortment of liquor. "Perfectly within my right as your _husband_ to make sure you are protected." He intoned, pouring himself a glass of brandy.

"Protected?" Elizabeth repeated, voice rising. "Having Mercer trail after me wasn't for _my_ protection! It was for _your_ information!"

The look on Lord Beckett's face seemed to say, "And the difference is?" as he walked passed her again. He leaned his hip against the desk and took a sip of his drink. "Tell me - are you so upset because I like to keep tabs on the things that are mine or because you were caught with Mr. Turner?"

Her lips thinned, bearing her teeth at his insinuation. "What does Will have to do with this? And I am not a _thing_! I am a person, not a possession!"

"You are my wife," Lord Beckett said. His voice was the same, slow drawl that he so often used, but his eyes were narrowed and dark and furious. "I can keep you safe however I see fit. And I do have some interest in making sure of your faithfulness. The last thing I want is to raise a child that is not mine. Really, Elizabeth. It's just good business."

"This isn't a business transaction, Cutler!" She yelled. He did not react to the volume of her voice nor to the fact it was the first time she had ever addressed him so informally. "This is a marriage! I am your wife! How dare you suggest that my honor is so questionable I need to be monitored at all times lest I turn into some wanton whore!"

Lord Beckett took another mouthful of his drink. If it wasn't for the fire in his eyes, Elizabeth wouldn't have known he was upset at all - his posture and movements so relaxed and rehearsed and familiar. But his lack of reaction only flamed her ire.

"I am faithful to you, Cutler! You _know_ that! How dare-"

"Do I?" His tone was cool, calculating, like he was simply gleaning information from a rival.

Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat up. "There is nothing between myself and Will Turner and I would ask-"

"Is that so?"

She was so mad she was shaking. How could he be so calm and cruel at the same time?

"What do you want me to say?" She shouted at him, throwing her sword down in a fit of rage. When the metal struck the floor it made a loud clanging noise that reverberated around the room. He didn't even have the curtesy to flinch. "Do you want me to say that I've been in love with Will since we were children? That the only reason I said no to poor, sweet James Norrington was because I sill clung to the hope that maybe one day Will would return my feelings? That I waited and he never - not _once_ - ever made a single move, never attempted to pursue me! That it was one sided and unrequited! Is that what you want me to say?" Her chest heaved from her effort, heart pounding in her ears so loud she almost didn't hear the thud that came from just outside the door.

Almost.

She froze. Lord Beckett smirked.

"He heard me," she whispered to herself. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no." Elizabeth clasped a hand over her mouth and swayed on her feet, feeling like her knees would buckle beneath her.

Her husband stood up straight and walked back behind his desk. "That will be all for now, Lady Beckett."

"You - you did that on purpose," she said quietly, eyes stinging. "This - _me_ - it's all some big game to you."

"You give me too much credit, I'm afraid," he announced as he sat down. "You speak without thinking often. So easy to predict it isn't much of a game."

Elizabeth's lip trembled of its own free will. "I'm your wife, how can you be so heartless?"

He picked up a document off the desk and began reading it over. "Perhaps we may shed tears together, then."

She blinked hard, trying to stop the onslaught of tears she could feel coming. She was angry with herself for crying in front of him, angry with him for humiliating her in front of Will.

"I hate you."

Lord Beckett smirked at her and placed his right hand, document and all, over his heart. "I'm wounded, Lady Beckett. Deeply."

At a loss for what to do - not wanting to face Will, but refusing to cry in front of her husband - she faltered on her feet for a moment. Tears clouded her vision when she finally bolted out of the office, running as fast as her feet could carry her. Someone called her name but she did not stop. She gathered her skirts in her hands and ran until she could run no longer. She fell to her knees on the sand of the beach, so far down the shore EITC headquarters was nowhere in sight, and sobbed into her hands.

All she ever had with Will was a friendship. She cherished it, because even if he would never love her, at least he would still be in her life. But Will was so_good_, his sense of honor so steadfast, he would have no choice but to cut her out now that he knew the truth. He would never knowingly tarnish her reputation, or worse, lead her into temptation. So for her sake he would stop all contact. He would stop being her friend.

And Lord Beckett had manipulated a conversation and stolen that cherished friendship from her just because he could.

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**A/N**: Yeah, and the title is taken from Taylor Swift. I'm not even going to apologize for my taste in music.

**Thanks**: to the guest reviewer. Hey, you're back!

**Spoiler** for next chapter: Fallout. Uh, duh. Also! It's like, 2200 words. Prepare yourselves.


	12. Control of the Center

**Disclaimer: **Thanks Miranda Lambert.

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**Chapter 11: Control of the Center**

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Elizabeth didn't dream when she laid her head down on the pillow. Instead, memories attacked, playing on the inside of her eyelids without ceasing, as real as when they first occurred.

Twelve and sneaking out and sword fighting in the mud with Will.

Six and watching her mother fade away.

One week ago, playing chess with Cutler and he was making fun of her French and she was calling him Napoleon.

When she woke up the next morning, the blankets were twisted up around her ankles and his side of the bed was cold. And her stupid, treacherous brain wondered where he spent the night and with whom he might've spent it.

She cried into her pillow.

xxxx

She spent the next day in relative hiding, venturing out to the library to write Rose a letter. Halfway through tattling to his mother about him, Elizabeth realized if he was having her followed, he was probably monitoring her correspondence as well. So she just left it there, half finished, and hid herself away in the bedroom again.

xxxx

She wondered what would happen when he came home from work. Everyday for the past month she had waited for him in his study. They had tea and played chess and insulted each other and talked about books and argued about politics until Ester came in and told them dinner was ready. They would eat dinner and keep talking and have a glass of wine and sometimes he would have to return to his study but most of the time…most of the time, they would retire for the evening together and the words stopped but they were still _communicating_.

Elizabeth wasn't waiting for him in his study and he didn't send for her.

She skipped dinner and he didn't come to bed.

xxxx

The next morning, Francie had apparently decided that she had had _enough_ and woke Elizabeth up with breakfast and good news. And Elizabeth could hardly hold on to her annoyance of the curtains being unceremoniously tossed open, letting in bright, blinding rays of the morning sunrise, when Francie handed her the package that had arrived from the seamstress.

All the women at the stables rode side-saddle, which was fine, of course. It had just become boring to Elizabeth after a while. So she had placed an order for breeches. The seamstress, at first, was terribly scandalized by the whole ordeal, but not so terribly scandalized as to risk losing the Beckett's as customers.

Elizabeth squealed when her maid opened the box and jumped out of bed, breakfast forgotten.

"At least eat _something_, my lady!" Francie called after her like a doting mother hen.

Elizabeth grabbed an apple from the tray and took off running out of the house, half dressed. She bit down on the apple to free up her hands and finish pulling on her riding habit. They kept Fortuitous on their grounds with their other horses that were used for pulling their private carriage. But whenever Elizabeth wanted a ride, she took For to the public stables which had a bit of land devoted to equestrianism with room to run and a jumping course on which to train.

She held the apple in her hand and took another bite, smiling as she walked. She hadn't worn breeches since she was just a wee little thing, sneaking over to Will Turner's shop and changing into his clothes and pretending to be pirates. The memory caused her heart to twist in her chest and the smile to fall from her lips. She took another bite and decided to save the rest for Fortuitous.

Only…he wasn't in the stables.

Elizabeth blinked. There were _no_ horses in the stables. And for stables that normally had three horses, the fact that there were suddenly zero was very strange. There should at least be one, even if her husband had taken the other two to work that morning.

She blinked twice more, but no horses appeared. She frowned deeply and glanced to the right, and to the left. But the only thing that suddenly appeared was her husband's loyal manservant. Mr. Mercer - or as Elizabeth had begun to think of him, Mr. Stalker - flashed a slick sort of smile and took her by the elbow.

"Alternate transportation has been arranged, my lady," he told her, lightly guiding her away from the stables.

She tossed the rest of her apple at his shoes and reluctantly allowed herself to be led. He sneered at her but didn't say anything about the apple that bounced off his toes.

She returned his sneer. "I was just going to take my horse for a ride."

"Yes, I do have eyes," Mr. Mercer said and she almost wondered if he was telling a joke. She huffed and he continued. "Fortuitous has been moved to the public stables. If you wish to visit him, you will be taken by carriage and returned home by carriage."

Elizabeth barked out a laugh. "Wh-what? I have to take a carriage to ride my horse?"

They turned the corner and started down the pathway to road. Sure enough, the gates were open and a carriage was waiting.

She glared at Mr. Stalker and yanked her elbow from his grasp. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Alternative transportation has been arranged, my lady," he repeated, reaching for her elbow again.

She yanked it from him, again, and kept glaring. "Yes, I have ears. Why has alternative transportation been arranged? It's a ride on a horse!"

A footman opened the door and Mr. Stalker ushered her inside. "Lord Beckett's orders. Anytime you wish to leave the house, you will do so in the comfort of a carriage."

Elizabeth, stunned, could only stare at him wide eyed. She opened and closed her mouth three times before finding words. "This is a joke!"

Mr. Mercer smirked. He pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

Frowning, Elizabeth opened the proffered letter. Written in the exact center of it, right between the two folds, was one sentence of her husband's elegant scrawl.

"This is not a joke," she read out loud.

She pursed her lips and bobbed her head up and down in a fine imitation of a parrot. "Hilarious!"

"Hardly," Mr. Mercer said in that same teasing tone of voice before shutting the door.

Elizabeth glared at the door, and then at the letter in her hands, and then at the door again. The carriage began moving and she raised her eyes skyward. "What is this?" She asked the roof. "What is he doing?"

Was this…was this about her breeches? Did he not want her riding through town in men's clothing? Was that it…he was trying to preserve her reputation? Or was this a threat - a reminder…that the freedom she thought she had, the freedom she thought he was giving her, was never real. Was he making the figurative ties he had on her all the more literal?

What did he want her to do? And how could she do the exact opposite?

She closed her eyes and brought her fingers to her temples, rubbing them in small circles. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to act in order to win. And it was that thought, that thought of acting and winning, that suddenly reminded Elizabeth of being seven and _heartbroken_, crying out for a mother who could no longer comfort her. Elizabeth's paternal grandmother had wrapped her so hard on the knuckles with a make shift switch that she had bled, saying, "It doesn't matter how you feel, only how you look."

She sat up straight and nodded to herself. It didn't matter what he wanted, or how he wanted her to react. He was in control of this game, and he was obviously in control of her way of life, but he was _not_ in control of her feelings. He was not in control of her actions. And if he expected a fight - if he was trying to provoke her into fighting him - then he would be sadly disappointed.

Elizabeth was going to be the most classy, elegant, silent wife that Port Royal had ever seen. She was going to be so classy, so elegant, so silent that it would hopefully kill him.

Four months into marriage and she was already hoping her husband would drop dead. Wouldn't her grandmother be proud of her now?

xxxx

Elizabeth took a long, hot bath before dinner. She washed and scrubbed every inch of her body until she practically squeaked. The dress she chose was too low cut to be worn with a shift, so it was only her corset and stockings and skin. She asked Francie to pull the corset even tighter than normal, figuring she would need the pain of it to remind her she was supposed to be acting.

The dress was a deep, dark red and hung off her shoulders. She and her maid spent a good half an hour pinning her hair up, every strand in perfect place. This hairstyle, not so coincidentally, showed off every inch of skin that the dress revealed.

Cutler was already seated at the dining room table that could comfortably seat a dozen or more guests, eating and staring out the windows. The wall that ran parallel to the table was so filled with them it was almost completely glass. He looked up at her when she entered the room, and it took everything in her not to stick her tongue out at him.

He exhaled not so quietly when she took the seat next to him and she interpreted that as a good sign that she had picked the right dress. But she kept her chin high, her shoulders straight, and stared out of the windows, letting her anger seep out of her pores. She wanted the room to be filled with it. She wanted him to feel her anger without ever having to open her mouth.

Cook set before her a plate of food. Elizabeth was too angry, too busy acting like the perfect, stuffy wife, to pay too much attention to what she was eating. It rather tasted like nothing. But she ate that nothing with perfect manners; no elbows on the table, no utensils in the air, no food spilling onto her lap.

She refused to look at husband, which was just as well, considering the fact that he didn't even attempt to speak to her. He kept his eyes on her while she ate though. She could practically feel his gaze burning her skin, but she wouldn't give in to it. She acted like it didn't bother her. She forced herself to act like she wasn't bothered by his eyes on her when all she wanted to do was jam her fork in them.

When he finished his meal, he left the table without a word, but trailed his finger across her bare back as he passed by. She held her breath until he had cleared the room, praying he hadn't felt her involuntary shiver.

xxxx

Cutler came to bed that night. He brought a book and read. Elizabeth stared up at the canopy, pretending she could see stars. She clutched the blankets to her chest and waited for him to speak.

He set his book down and doused the candle, sending the room into darkness. "Goodnight, Lady Beckett."

Elizabeth tried to find Polaris in the canopy.

xxxx

**A/N**: So here's what happened. I started writing some chapters towards the end of this story when I realized I hate what I had written for the middle. Like, this chapter, and the next four that follow. So, I'm re-writing them. Updates will probably be slower than they have been, but I'll be aiming for at least once a week, no less than once every other week. Sorry it's been, um, two weeks since my last update! You should all review and tell me how terrible I am.

The title of this chapter is borrowed from a chess move.

Thanks to the _guest_ reviewer: Beckett is easiest to write when he's being a prick for some reason.

ETA: Fixed the timing issue here.


	13. Someone Else's Plan

**Disclaimer:** Nervous about this one. Just stick with me. :) The length is unbearable, I know! I'm sorry. (Not really.)

**Warnings**: Character's death.

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**Chapter 12: Someone Else's Plan**

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The invitation for afternoon tea at the Dunwell's house could not have come soon enough. Elizabeth was dying for some time away from her house, from her husband's employees, from her grandmother's advice. It had only been four days since the fight, but it felt like four weeks. She was still so angry with her husband, so very, very angry, and all she wanted to do was break his nose. His stupid little perfect nose.

"Really, Liz," Maggie said over the rim of her tea cup, "I'm surprised that you're surprised by this."

Elizabeth snorted and added sugar to her tea. "Beg pardon?"

"He's a man." Maggie grinned every so slightly. "This is what men do. They are territorial and they behave like idiots."

Elizabeth had to agree with the last part of Maggie's statement.

"He was jealous," Maggie continued, finally taking a sip of her tea. "It's like I told Will-"

"You spoke to Will about this?" Elizabeth hissed through clenched teeth.

Maggie had frozen over the last 'l' in Will's name, mouth open and eyes wide. She smiled and set her cup on its saucer. "It, well…what happened _was_."

Elizabeth glared.

"It was like pulling teeth! Honest, Liz, he didn't want to tell me." Maggie held up her hands in surrender. "He came over for dinner, as he usually does in the middle of the week, and he seemed so very sad. So I sent Thomas out of the room - I did, I sent Thomas out! - and I got it out of him. He's just worried that the friendship is ruined. But I assured him that it's not."

"Really?" Elizabeth asked, feeling at once relieved and disappointed. "He's worried that the friendship is ruined?"

Maggie nodded, smiling brightly. "But you two have been friends for such a long time, nothing will ruin that. After all, _me_ getting married didn't change anything."

"Yes, but Thomas likes Will. Actually, it became more acceptable for you to spend time with Will because it was in the presence of your husband."

Maggie sighed and nodded again. "Thomas likes Will because he's not…threatened by him. You see?"

"Not really," Elizabeth frowned, pushing her cup to the side. "It sure seems like he is trying to get me to hate him. And it's working. This morning I spent my time sowing and imaging ways in which to poison him."

The blonde woman laughed. "That's good!" She exclaimed, and Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in bewilderment. "It's good that you're this angry with him. It means you can still work things out. Hate is not the opposite of love, Liz. Indifference is."

Elizabeth practically jumped out of her seat, palm connecting with the table with a bit more force than she meant. "That's brilliant, Mags! I'll treat him indifferently. That will really drive him mad!"

Maggie grimaced at her tea cup. "Not exactly what I had in mind."

The front door burst open, and Captain Dunwell sauntered in to the house. He smiled broadly when he saw the two of them seated at the dining room table.

"Ah, my favorite ladies!" He greeted, coming over to drop a kiss on the top of Maggie's head. "Up to no good, I'm sure."

"As always," Elizabeth grinned, feeling incredibly happy now that she had a new plan of attack.

Thomas strolled around the table to her and took her hand in his, making a show of bowing low and kissing her knuckles. "My lady! How can I thank you for gracing my humble home with your presence?"

She snorted and pushed him away. "Oh, hush."

He stood up straight and winked at her. "Maggie," he said, his voice too loud, sitting in the chair at the head of the table with a flourish. "Where is my son?"

"He's sleeping," she replied, flashing him a look that read to Elizabeth as tired but pleased.

"Sleeping," he repeated with a huff. "Nonsense. Winifred!" He called for their ladies help maid, the only one they could afford on his salary. "Winifred, bring me my son! I wish to look upon his face before our journey."

Maggie rolled her eyes and Elizabeth giggled behind her hand.

"Where are you journeying too?" Elizabeth asked, her smile wide. Thomas had always been a silly sort of man - so strict with the men on his ship, so foolish with his wife and friends - and Elizabeth enjoyed indulging him when he got it into his head to be funny.

"Ah, to a faraway land of steal and…donkeys." He narrowed his eyes at the wall, as if that sentence hadn't ended quite the way he wanted it to.

"Donkeys," Elizabeth repeated.

Thomas opened his mouth but was saved from having to reply by Winifred appearing, holding a sleepy Thomas Junior in her arms. The boy brightened immediately when he saw his father.

"Da!" He exclaimed, his word getting caught in a yawn, and reached for Thomas.

He gladly took him into his lap, kissing his cheek and poking him on the nose. Maggie smiled and reached over to brush some of TJ's dark hair off his forehead.

Elizabeth felt a little like she was intruding on a special family moment. She picked up the tea she had pushed aside and scooped another spoonful of sugar in it, thinking if it was sweet enough it wouldn't matter if it had now gone cold.

"You should come with us," Maggie said in an almost cautious tone of voice.

Elizabeth let the spoon clunk against the sides of the cup. "To the land of steal and donkeys?"

"Yes," Thomas agreed, bouncing his son on his knee. "It's inhabitants know it only as _J. Brown_."

She dropped the spoon and pursed her lips. "Will's shop."

"Ah," Thomas smiled pleasantly. "Yes. I am being…fitted."

"I was not aware one needed to be fitted for a sword." Elizabeth stated, eyebrow raised.

"That's because a respectable lady such as yourself need not be concerned with swords," he said.

This time it was Elizabeth rolling her eyes. "Why do I feel as though this was planned previously," she said to no one in particular.

"Because you are an observant young woman of reasonable intelligence," Thomas answered for no one.

Elizabeth glared half-heartedly at him. "Reasonable, I suppose."

"Come with us," Maggie said, reaching out to touch Elizabeth's forearm. "We'll stay with you the whole time. And you can resolve it. All of it, if you want."

Elizabeth stared down at her friend's fingers, at her own forearm, and bit her lip. All of it? There was no way she could resolve all of it, not with eight years of history between herself and Will. Not with him knowing how she felt about him, and his biggest and seemingly only concern was over their friendship. But something…something was better than nothing.

She sighed and nodded her head. "All right. Let's go."

After TJ was thoroughly kissed goodbye by all three adults and handed off to Winifred, Thomas opened the door for the women. Mr. Mercer was lingering outside the Dunwell's modest home, carriage at the ready. He narrowed his dark eyes at them in obvious suspicion. Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but Thomas took off his hat and waved it.

"Good afternoon, sir! And how are you today?"

Mr. Mercer didn't respond.

"Excellent!" Thomas said anyway. "I am Captain Thomas Dunwell, employed by the Royal Navy. Perhaps you've heard of it? This is my wife, the lovely Margaret Dunwell. And we were going to go on a walk on this beautiful day with our good friend, the illustrious Lady Beckett."

Elizabeth tried very hard not to choke on her tongue.

"I assure you, sir, that I am more than capable of accompanying these women on a walk on a beautiful day such as today, and will have the Lady Beckett returned to you unharmed and in one piece as soon as possible." Thomas set his hat back on his wigged head with an exaggerated flick of his wrist. "If you, perhaps, need a character reference you may speak with Admiral Norrington, as is he is both the Commander of Fort Charles and my immediate supervisor."

Mr. Mercer glared, but kept his mouth firmly closed. Thomas bowed his head before taking each woman by the arm and walking at a brisk pace into town.

Elizabeth waited until they turned a corner to speak up, checking over her shoulder to make sure they really were not being followed. "Illustrious?" She asked, taking her arm away from him.

"Does it make up for the reasonable comment earlier?"

Maggie giggled and Elizabeth glared. "Decidedly not," she replied cooly.

He winked at her and kissed his wife's hair and the three of them fell into a companionable silence as they walked.

Elizabeth was nervous. Obviously, this little chaperoned meeting was planned - probably when Will had been over to the Dunwell's for dinner - and inviting her to tea was apparently a ruse to get her over to the smithy. Will must know that they were going to be arriving shortly, and Elizabeth wasn't sure what she was going to say when she saw him.

She told herself she needed to be grateful for this opportunity. Her biggest fear, her biggest worry, after the blow up with Lord Beckett when she had been crying on the beach, was that Will would cut her off completely. And fortunately she was wrong. Still. It was hard not to be…disappointed. After all this time, after all those years she spent wondering, hoping…even now that he knew how she felt, he still only wanted to be her friend.

But what else was he supposed to want? She had made her choice. She had married someone else. And if he returned her feelings he could have said something. He could have courted her. He could have pursued her. But he didn't. And she had eventually moved on.

Hadn't she?

_Lady Beckett, it appears you need to learn how to finish what you start._

Very well. She could do that. She could finish was she started. She could close this door firmly and let Will - the _idea_ of Will - go. She could move on today and begin in-acting her plan of indifference this evening.

They turned another corner and Elizabeth realized they were very close to Mr. Brown's shop. Her heart sped up in her chest and she took a deep breath and held it, determined not to let her nerves get the best of her. She raised her head and could hear her grandmother's words swirling around in her memory.

Even if she was nervous, she was going to look calm. Even if it killed her.

Halfway down the road, two men stumbled out of a pub, screaming at each other. They were disheveled and dirty and loud and Elizabeth and her companions slowed down as a crowd gathered around the two men.

Thomas sighed. "It's Jason and Jerry. Brothers. Sometimes they fight down at the docks."

"What?" Maggie questioned, eyeing the shouting men in distaste. "Why?"

"They keep stealing each other's wife," he said with a barely perceptible shrug. "That poor woman."

"Just the one woman?" Elizabeth clarified, but Thomas didn't hear her.

"I better go deal with this before they end up arrested." He dropped his wife's arm and kissed her on the cheek. "You two stay here. I'll be right back."

He lightly jogged across the road, the crowd of spectators parting as he passed through. "Gentlemen!" He called out, holding a hand out to each of them as he moved to the center of the conflict. "Gentlemen, let us settle this like-"

Either Jason and Jerry didn't hear Thomas, or they didn't see Thomas, or they didn't care who got in their way…because one of them pulled out a pistol and shot and Thomas, sweet, funny, silly Thomas…fell to the ground.

xxxx

Elizabeth forgot how to breathe. For a moment there was nothing, no sound but the beating of her own heart in her ears, nothing visible but the blood seeping out onto the ground from underneath a blue navy uniform. When her senses returned, when she was able to draw in a breath, all she could hear was Maggie screaming. It was louder than anything Elizabeth had ever heard before, and it seemed to travel through her ears only to pierce her soul.

Maggie ran. She took off across the street, shoving in to the crowd that was growing larger by the moment, and threw herself onto her knees by her fallen husband. She screamed his name and tried to roll him over.

The two men who had started the fight seemed to come back into themselves and took off running in opposite directions.

Elizabeth blinked and felt her feet start moving on their own. "Stop them!" She ordered, but no one listened. "Someone, stop them!" But the crowd just got thicker, hovering over Thomas.

She grabbed a small boy, no older than seven, by the shoulders. "Go to Mr. Brown's shop and get Will Turner. Do you hear me?" He looked up at her with wide, blue eyes, and she had to force away an image of TJ. "Go get Will Turner. Tell him Elizabeth needs him. Bring him here now."

The boy took off running and Elizabeth stood in the center of the street to watch him, unsure what to do next. She could hear Maggie screaming Thomas' name over and over, somehow louder than her own pulse pounding in her ears. Elizabeth took a deep breath and steeled herself; with more courage than she thought she had, she pushed through the crowd.

Maggie had rolled Thomas onto his back. Her hands were covered in his blood as she grabbed at his coat and begged him to wake up, to look at her. Not knowing what else to do, Elizabeth kneeled down next to Maggie. She didn't attempt to move her away from him, she didn't even try to comfort her. She just sat there, on the ground, and listened to her cry.

Thomas was pale and his eyes were open and there was blood staining his chest and stomach and Elizabeth couldn't do much more but stare at the dimple in his chin.

"Elizabeth!" Will called, bursting through the crowd that had grown to several dozen onlookers, with more arriving near constantly. "Elizabeth, what-"

He stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open at the sight before him. Elizabeth closed her eyes and turned away from Thomas. When she opened them again, she was looking up at Will.

He ran his hand over his hair and swallowed. "I'll go…I'll go get-"

"James," Elizabeth finished for him. "Go get James."

Will nodded and pushed through the crowd again.

Maggie threw herself down over her husband, sobbing hysterically into his bloody chest. Feeling lost inside herself, Elizabeth ran her hand up and down her friend's back.

They were…they were just having tea. Thomas was only a moment ago being silly and dealing with Mercer and bouncing his son on his knee and now…now he was dead, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Elizabeth could still remember when he sailed into town. It was not long after Weatherby had sat down with Will Turner, all of fourteen, and told him that he was much too old to be gallivanting about with his daughter and Margaret Pennyworth. Weatherby believed Will needed to learn his place, and his place was not in the company of dignified young women, such as that of the governor's daughter.

It had been only Elizabeth and Maggie then. But Maggie wasn't interested in sword fights and playing pirates. She fancied dresses and jewelry and _boys_. Maggie took one look at Thomas Dunwell, at the time nothing more than a mere sailor, and that was it. She was gone. All of seventeen she'd married a man six years her senior and Elizabeth had never known her to be happier.

And that made Elizabeth happy, even if she found herself to be largely alone from that point forward.

But now…now what? They had a child together and one on the way and just like that, it was all gone. He was gone.

Tears bit at the back of her eyes but she blinked them away, struggling to be strong for Maggie. She pressed her hand in-between Maggie's shoulder blades and curled her fingers in Maggie's dress, trying to focus on the warmth of her skin and not on the blood seeping out from under Thomas and approaching their knees.

"Move aside!" was the loud order that parted the crowd, and Elizabeth was relieved to see Will return with Admiral Norrington and half a dozen sailors in tow. James very visibly grimaced when he saw Thomas lying on the ground, and the sailors behind him were no better. Some of them had to turn their heads.

It felt like years passed before James finally moved his eyes from Thomas' prone body, from Maggie covered in her husband's blood, and looked at Elizabeth. She took a deep breath and did not cry.

"He said…he said their names were Jason and Jerry. Brothers, who sometimes fought at the docks over their wife."

This was apparently enough information for Thomas' colleagues to identify his murderers. James quietly ordered something, and four of the six navy men took off running.

Will sat next to Thomas' shoulders. His cheeks were wet when he gently moved a hand over Thomas' face, closing his eyes for him.

With his eyes closed, Elizabeth thought, he almost looked like he was sleeping. If she could forget about how pale his skin was, about the blood all around him, all over him, maybe he was just sleeping.

"Margaret," James whispered, kneeling down at her other side. "Margaret, I am so very sorry."

It was the first time anyone had spoken to her since the shooting. Maggie sat back on her haunches, her blood stained hands wringing in her lap. "What do I do, James?" She gasped, breathless. "What do I do?"

Helpless, James could only shake his head. "Maggie…"

Maggie sobbed and threw herself into the admiral's chest, knocking him flat on his bottom. She wrapped her arms around him and cried into his stomach. James glanced up at Elizabeth with wide eyes before looking down at the woman in his lap. Hesitantly, he set a hand on her upper back and stroked his fingers through her hair.

Elizabeth wasn't sure how much time passed after that, only that it seemed to be at once forever and no time at all. But when James looked back up at her, she knew what he was trying to ask of her by sight alone.

"Maggie," she whispered, sitting up on her knees and placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Maggie, sweetheart. They…they need us to…leave."

Maggie sat up from James and wiped at her nose, leaving blood behind. "Leave?" She repeated quietly.

James swallowed and somehow managed not to look away. "We need to…gather evidence and…he'll have to be moved."

A fresh round of tears welled up in Maggie's eyes. "I don't want him to be alone."

"I'll stay," Will offered, his voice quavering slightly. "Maggie, I'll stay with him."

Elizabeth did her best to smile at him as she stood. She moved to kneel down next to Maggie and the admiral, running her fingers over Maggie's forehead. "See? Will won't leave Thomas, all right?"

Maggie nodded her consent and James helped her to her feet. She swayed like she was going to fall and James gripped at her arms, bringing her to his side.

"Do you want me to walk home with you?" He asked Elizabeth in a whisper.

She shook her head and got under Maggie as best she could given their height difference. She held on to Maggie's waist and brought her arm over her shoulders. "You find those men," Elizabeth ordered the admiral behind clenched teeth. "I want them hanged as soon as possible."

James blinked, taken aback, but quickly nodded in agreement.

Elizabeth spared a glance passed him to see Will still sitting by Thomas. They shared a look and she sighed, squeezing Maggie lightly, before they walked away.

* * *

**A/N**: I had Anna Nalick's _Walk Away_ on repeat when writing this. I don't know exactly why I keep highlighting my music choices, except for the fact that I'm a rather boring person and this is all I've got.

I'm normally not a big fan of OCs in fanfiction, which is why I'm nervous about bringing you guys this chapter. I had something TOTALLY different written at one point but it didn't really _work_. And then I was just going to kill off Thomas without any fanfare, but the poor guy - I wanted to at least introduce him properly before snuffing him out. After the next chapter, OCs should return to their USED SPARINGLY place. Readers may recognize Maggie and Thomas Dunwell from chapter 8.

**Thanks** to Tammy394 and the guest for reviewing and to everyone who took the time to read or alert or favorite!

Don't forget to review! Even if it's just to complain about a lack of Beckett! :) He'll be back next time, promise. ;p


	14. Until the World Caves in

**Disclaimer: **Alfred Pennyworth is Bruce Wayne's butler. His great-great-great-etc uncle was named Albert. (I've decreed)

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**Chapter Thirteen**: **Until the World Caves in**

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Sneering, Mr. Mercer approached the two women before they were even able to get to the entrance of the Dunwell's home. "And where did your chaperone run off to, hm?" But his sneer fell when his eyes moved from Elizabeth to Maggie, obviously taking in the fact that she was covered in blood.

"He's dead," Maggie whispered, and she felt like lead in Elizabeth's arms. "Thomas is dead."

Elizabeth glared fiercely at her husband's loyal manservant, who couldn't even be bothered to open the door for them, and took Maggie inside.

Winifred was in the kitchen, waiting with a smile on her face. "Hello, Missus! Where be - Mum?" Her voice changed to one of shock. "Mum, why are you covered in blood? Where's the Captain?"

Elizabeth brought Maggie over to the sofa in the drawing room, the maid hot on their heels. "Winifred," she began, grabbing the young woman by the sleeve and moving her away from Maggie. "I need you to run to the Pennyworths, do you hear me? Run and do not slow down. Bring them here now."

Winifred nodded and obeyed, slamming the front door open with enough force to shake the house. When Elizabeth stepped outside to close the door, she found her stalker and his carriage missing.

Great, she thought. Just what Maggie needs right now. Lord Beckett making a mess of things.

Elizabeth took a breath and placed her palm on her forehead. She was sure the room was spinning. Or maybe it was her own mind. She tried to close her eyes to find her equilibrium, but all she could see was Thomas, covered in blood. Thomas, bouncing his son on his knee. Her mother, dead in her bed.

She exhaled through pursed lips, ringing her shaking hands. She couldn't cry. Not now. Not now when she was all Maggie had.

Elizabeth rolled back her shoulders and forced herself into the drawing room; Maggie was lying on the floor, eyes open but unseeing. And Elizabeth…could remember this part. The moments after the shock. When it felt like your entire life ended and you wanted the world to end, too. But it didn't. It wouldn't. No matter who was lost.

She shifted on her feet, unsure of what to do. Elizabeth quickly ruled out speaking, certain that Maggie couldn't hear her. TJ started to cry from his nursery and Elizabeth felt relief wash over her, followed immediately by guilt. But she embraced the distraction anyway, scurrying to comfort the child.

TJ raised his arms when she entered the room and Elizabeth obediently scooped him out of his crib.

"Hello, sweetheart," she cooed as he rubbed his eyes. "Did you have a nice nap?"

He yawned and nuzzled his face into her neck. "Where Da?"

Elizabeth froze, her hand on going still on his back.

"Da boat?"

She cleared her throat and blinked back tears. "Are you hungry?" Elizabeth asked, doing her best to smile at him. "Come on, let's find you something to eat."

xxxx

Elizabeth lost herself.

She could remember Mr. and Mrs. Pennyworth arriving. She could remember helping Maggie's mother undress her only daughter. She could remember Winifred preparing a bath and helping Maggie into the tub. She could remember the clear water changing color as they washed the blood off of Maggie's hands and face.

But it felt like they were someone else's memories; like someone else had taken control over her body.

People started arriving with food and condolences and Elizabeth thought it was too soon for visitors, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. Maggie sat in a chair in her bedroom, blank eyes staring out the window, and Mrs. Pennyworth kept everyone who arrived in the drawing room, apparently agreeing with Elizabeth's unspoken opinion.

Elizabeth kept TJ occupied, only half listening to the conversations happening around her. When the Pennyworths were out of the room, the topic seemed to shift from Such A Tragedy to Everyday Gossip. It was altogether too difficult, it seemed, to summon enough strength to be bitter over the fact that Thomas' death was little more than another excuse for a social gathering.

Time lost all meaning, but when Will came into the house she was vaguely aware that the sun had set.

"They started asking me about funeral arrangements," Will whispered to her, his eyes bright. "I couldn't do it. I'm…I'm sorry."

What a strange thing to apologize for, Elizabeth thought but didn't say. She kissed his cheek and he took TJ from her arms.

Elizabeth was so outside of herself that when Lord Beckett arrived, staff in hand, she was more relieved than anything else. What took him so long, she thought, as she listened to him softly offer his condolences to Mr. Pennyworth.

Well, of course he knows Maggie's father, Elizabeth frowned. Albert Pennyworth, funnily enough, was the most successful banker in Port Royal. Albert's daughter marrying an ordinary sailor had been a bit of a scandal all those years ago. But it had only brought Elizabeth hope…

And now Thomas was gone and Maggie was alone and Elizabeth hadn't married Will Turner.

Lord Beckett caught her eye and Elizabeth nodded, holding up an index finger. She took him turning back to Mr. Pennyworth as a sign of his consent and left the idle chatter of the drawing room, walking quietly towards the Dunwell's bedroom.

Maggie was in that same green chair she had been in since finishing her bath. Her posture was perfect, her hands set neatly in her lap, but her eyes were blank as they stared out the window.

"Mags," Elizabeth whispered, closing the door. "Mags, I'm…leaving now. But I can come back tomorrow? If you want me to?"

When Maggie didn't answer, Elizabeth blinked away the stinging in her eyes and dropped a kiss on the other woman's forehead. She couldn't bring herself to say anything else when she left the room.

xxxx

Silence reigned in the carriage on the ride back home. Elizabeth licked her lips and stared straight ahead of her, all too aware of the man sitting mere inches away.

Apparently, they were still not speaking to each other. She wondered if she should find some relief that at least not everything had changed in the span of one afternoon.

In one trip to the smithy.

In one offer of tea…in one planned conversation with Will.

Her bottom lip quivered and Elizabeth sucked it into her mouth. She had gone all day without crying. She couldn't give in now. Not when she was alone with Lord Beckett. Not when they still weren't talking, even _after_ she had witnessed her friend being murdered.

Her friend who would not have been murdered if he hadn't been trying to stop a fight.

Elizabeth almost snorted.

_Which fight?_

If Maggie and Thomas hadn't arranged to take her to speak to Will…if she hadn't fought with her husband…

Her hands started to shake in her lap and she stared down at them in shock. It was her fault. It was all her fault. She placed her trembling hands against her legs and clutched on to the fabric of her dress, desperately trying to hold back the tears gathering in her eyes. As her vision blurred, she could see where the cloth by her knees had been stained red.

"Oh," she whispered, blinking once and releasing tears down her cheeks. "I've his blood on my dress."

Something broke, snapped into place, and Elizabeth was thrust back into her body, back into every emotion she had been keeping at bay since a pistol had been fired. Her shoulders slumped forward and she held her face in her hands, her body racked with sobs.

"He kept asking me where his father was," she managed to say as she gasped for breath. "What was I supposed to tell him? Oh, God." Elizabeth rocked back and forth where she sat, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug. Her voice was caught up in that familiar chant, almost like a prayer, until she pressed her lips together in a desperate attempt to quiet her wailing.

Elizabeth was so distraught, so lost in her mourning, she didn't notice the carriage come to a halt, nor Lord Beckett tap his staff against the roof, nor the carriage resume travel, circling back around.

When their carriage stopped at the gates for the second time, Elizabeth attempted to pull herself together; she sat up in her seat and wiped her face with the back of her hand, taking in shallow, shuddering breaths.

Lord Beckett cleared his throat and turned his head and she allowed his steely gaze to lock with her watery one. "Everyone dies, Elizabeth," he said, his voice quiet. "It's the only certain thing in this world."

She would have slapped him if it hadn't of been for Mr. Mercer opening the door right at that moment. Lord Beckett stepped out and offered his wife his hand, which she refused, thrusting her chin to the sky.

No, she thought as she gracefully stomped into the house, not everything changed.

* * *

**A/N**: So, last chapter somehow managed to have more hits than the one before it, and yet less reviews. I'm assuming this is due to lack of Beckett. Well, here he is now! Being a smarmy douche. To be fair, I don't think he meant to be a smarmy douche...he just, you know, _is_ one.

So, this is me, asking for reviews. Because, the next chapter? Oooh, lots of Beckett.

Here's a **spoiler**: "Tell me how you got your scars."

The title of this chapter is taken from Switchfoot's _The Blues. _Also, I did research this! And apparently? The dead were kept in their homes until their processional and subsequent burial. I'm skipping over that but, you know. Now you know! Yay google! :)

Review, please!


	15. Washed Away

**Disclaimer**: Mind the rating, okay?

Also, yes, that _is_ a significant age difference. Who frickin cares it's Tom frickin Hollander. ALSO it's not like Norrington would have been that much closer in age and I know ya'll love some Norrabeth. OH AND aren't Jack and Lord Beckett supposed to be around the same age? SO. There. I've logiced all of you. Except for you Willabethers...

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**Chapter Fourteen: Washed Away**

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Elizabeth absentmindedly bit at a stray cuticle, her forehead resting against the window pane. It was a dreary, dreadful, rainy day. The sky was so dark it was impossible to find even a glimpse of the sun that she knew was hanging up there somewhere.

The sun had been shining bright without a cloud in the sky only a day before. It was so bright that it stung her watery eyes. Elizabeth had had trouble looking at anything but her own gloved hand on her father's elbow; at Will and James and four other men acting as pallbearers; at TJ's little face as his father's mahogany casket was lowered into the ground. She wondered then if he would even have a memory of his father.

The face and voice of her own mother are foggy at best in Elizabeth's memory, but she can recall in vivid detail every stitch of the floral quilt that kept her dying mother warm.

Would TJ even have that?

After the funeral, Elizabeth found herself approaching Maggie, attempting to apologize for Lord Beckett's absence. He works so much, she was going to say. He wouldn't even stay for the entirety of our wedding day. But Maggie had smiled softly behind her black veil before Elizabeth could even open her mouth.

"I can't thank you enough, Liz. The navy has a small fund for widows, and I have my parents, of course. But being able to maintain some independence for a few more years is an incredibly generous gift."

Blinking, Elizabeth had mustered up a dim smile.

"Please pass along my thanks to your husband, won't you?"

And Elizabeth, stunned, had trotted off to her father's side and wondered…

She sighed, her attention back on the rain splattering against the window. It should have rained yesterday. It should have started raining the moment Thomas was shot.

She thought about the street, the blood that had stained it being washed away in the storm, the blood on Maggie turning the bathwater brown. What now? The storm would pass and none of his blood would be left behind. Dead and buried in the ground, that was it. It was over. He was gone and the world…hadn't ended.

She could remember thinking how unfair it was, when her mother died, that everyone else could keep on living. Didn't they see? Couldn't they understand? Her mother _was_ the whole world. And if she was gone no one else had the right, no one else should have the ability, to live without her. But they did. Nothing changed. Not really. And after a time the only people who even talked about her mother were Elizabeth and her father. Everyone else seemed to pretend like she never existed in the first place, like she was a pleasant dream to be forgotten.

People died. People died everyday and nothing changed. The sun rose and it set. The tide came in and went out again. Children laughed and women gossiped and men discussed. And husbands and wives argued.

Elizabeth couldn't really even remember what started it. Except that it was probably everything. That it had been coming for a long time now. And that she should care more than she did.

"You have everything. Everything, Elizabeth," she could hear Cutler's voice over the storm raging outside. "Yet you behave as if you've been held captive."

Elizabeth let her hand drop to her lap. She closed her eyes and wished she could fall through the glass. "My situation does not differ much from that of a prisoner, does it?"

Cutler "hm"ed quietly. "Perhaps I should lock you in a cell at Fort Charles. For comparison's sake, of course."

Elizabeth turned her head and slowly blinked her eyes open. His back was to her, one fist on his hip, the other on the mantel of the fireplace. Despite herself, she found her lip twitching up into a small smile. "You would."

Cutler glanced up at her, a violent, wild look flashing across his features in the firelight. All pretenses of a smile fell from her face. She had never been afraid of her husband. Never imagined him raising a hand to her. Never witnessed him raising his voice at anyone. But for that moment when his control slipped away, when the mask of Lord Beckett kept so forcefully in place pealed away, fear gripped at her lungs and made her heart race.

He stepped back from the fireplace, walking towards her at a slow, exaggerated pace, and Elizabeth couldn't breathe. Who was this man? Cutler didn't stop his approach until their noses almost touched. She pressed her back against the window, like a cornered animal trying to cower in on itself. He didn't smirk, didn't sneer; there was no familiar twitch of his lips or his eyebrows. And his eyes, as blue as the ocean, didn't burn. But when he looked at her she couldn't look away.

"I would."

A whisper. A promise.

He turned away from her and Elizabeth gasped for air. Who was this man? Just yesterday he was donating money to a widow. And today he was threatening to send his own wife to jail to teach her a lesson?

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice quivering. He narrowed his eyes at her over his shoulder and Elizabeth stood from the window seat, unwilling to be trapped again. "Please - I don't, I don't understand. Help me to understand."

Cutler turned around and clasped his hands behind his back, his dark brow arched delicately. "And what, pray tell, do you need help understanding today?"

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She swallowed hard and raised her chin. "I just want to know who are you. I don't…I don't even know your birthday or your age." His expression remained unchanged and Elizabeth found herself blinking back tears, an uncomfortable twist coming from somewhere near her heart. "Please," she whispered and wondered where all that indifference she had been feeling for him moments ago went.

He huffed, but she couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. His eyes drifted from her face to the window. In the firelight, she could almost see the rain reflected in his eyes. That _look_ was gone. She had only glimpsed it. She had only had a second to see passed his mask, to see passed his white knuckled control. He was always in control. And there was nothing in that moment she wanted more than to see him lose it, just a little bit.

"Please," she said again, leaving off _let me in_, though it hung in their air between them as if she'd spoken. "I just want to know who you are."

"And what," Cutler began but broke off in another quiet huff. "And what information does one require to know who another _is_?"

Elizabeth forced back panic, for a fleeting moment scared that she didn't know. But it was quickly obvious that the only thing she didn't know was where to start. She was pacing the room as she fired off questions. "How old are you? When is your birthday? Where are you from? What is your family like? Is it only you and Rose? How long have you worked for the Company? Do you have a favorite color? Or a lucky wig? What was the name of the first girl you ever," Elizabeth paused, mid step, and smiled brokenly. "Kissed," she finally said. _Loved_ seemed like a bit of a stretch.

Cutler snorted, finally pulling his eyes from the window. He openly appraised her, sweeping his gaze over the entirety of her before settling back on her face. Elizabeth shivered under the scrutiny and crossed her arms under her breasts, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

He blinked once and she licked her lips, too aware of him - of the rain on the window, of the fire burning behind them - to find her voice.

"My birthday is the 25th of August," he finally said after several long heartbeats.

Elizabeth's face fell, caught off guard that the date had passed only a week prior. "Oh." She moved her arms to hug herself, feeling oddly disappointed. "Happy birthday, then."

He smirked at her, a shadow of a gesture that reminded her of books written in French and tricorn hats.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Cutler delicately shrugged a shoulder. "What difference does it make?"

_Hate is not the opposite of love, Liz. Indifference is._

All of it, Elizabeth thought miserably. It makes all the difference.

She moved to perch herself on the trunk at the foot of the bed, holding her hands in her lap and frowning at them. "What age did you turn?"

"Six and thirty," he replied almost immediately and she nodded.

Elizabeth stared at her hands, fighting away the memory of Maggie's covered in blood, and ignored the way tears bit at the backs of her eyes. Cutler went back to his position at the fire place, one hand on the mantel, the other on his hip. Maybe he thought the conversation was over. Maybe he thought she was ridiculous for wanting to know him, wanting to see him lose control. Maybe he…

"Would you like to know anything about me?" Elizabeth asked, that broken smile bravely overtaking her lips. "Maybe my birthday-"

"The 26th of March," Cutler interrupted, still watching the fire.

"…Or my age-"

"You be one and twenty next year."

How…how did he…? Elizabeth snorted and shook her head. Of course. Of course Lord Beckett would not enter into a business arrangement without first researching his partner. Or was she his opponent? Honestly, she couldn't be sure.

"Is there anything you don't know," she meant to joke, but it came out flat and without inflection. A sarcastic, quiet statement that she couldn't take back.

"You were born and raised in London. Your mother died when you were seven. Your father was offered the position of Governor in Port Royal, Jamaica almost five years later and you turned 12 on the voyage." He turned around and narrowed his eyes. "Was there anything else?" He asked in that tone of voice that sounded like he already knew the answer. "Ah, yes. Will Turner."

Elizabeth hugged herself again, pressing her lips into a thin line. What did he mean? Why did he bring up Will?

_What was the name of the first girl you ever…kissed?_

"I never kissed Will," she whispered.

"Ah, but that wasn't the question you wanted to ask, now was it?"

Elizabeth blushed and dropped her gaze.

Lightning struck not far from their window, lighting up the room seconds before thunder shook it.

"Blue," Elizabeth said once the thunder faded.

Cutler's brow furrowed and she smiled softly.

"Favorite color," she answered his unasked question. "I don't have any wigs to consider one of them lucky."

He was unimpressed by her joke and turned his attention back to the fire. Her lips tugged downward at his dismissal.

_Hate is not the opposite of love, Liz. Indifference is. _

Elizabeth had practically begged him for information and the only details he parted with were his age and his birthday. He had given her the bare minimum and she…she wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Tell me how you got your scars," she said with more forcefulness than she thought she possessed. Lightning flashed as he glanced at her over his shoulder to reveal that the violent, wild look he had so quickly hidden away was back. Thunder boomed and Elizabeth flinched, though not from the noise.

He stepped away from the fire place and Elizabeth felt her lungs constrict. But she refused to back down, refused to let her fear show. She wanted to know him, to really know him. And if anyone here was going to be indifferent of the other - it was going to be her!

Cutler didn't invade her personal space this time, instead stopping a few feet short of the trunk on which she sat. He pointed at his forehead, at the scar in the center of it. "Ring."

He took off his waistcoat and cravat while keeping his eyes on hers. Casually, he tossed them on the sofa behind him, and rolled up his right shirt sleeve. "Here," he pointed at a thin scar on the inside of his wrist, "a coral reef."

He leaned against the now clothes covered sofa and took off his shoes and stockings. "This," he said, tracing a scar hidden by leg hair on his calf, "from a misguided tree climbing adventure."

Elizabeth watched him pull up the bottom of his shirt, exposing his hip bones. He pressed his index finger on the puckered skin over his left hip. "Knife."

He turned away from her and took his shirt of over his head, leaving her with a good view of the long, opaque scars on his back that she was now almost more familiar with by feel rather than sight. "Cat o'nine tails."

Cutler didn't turn around, instead taking the time to remove his wig, placing it on it's stand.

There was another round of thunder and lightning, closer than ever before, and Elizabeth drew her brows together. "You didn't-"

"Yes, I did," he interrupted with a sigh. "You asked for how, and I answered." He finally turned around, smirking at her. "The word you should have used was _why_."

"You're arguing over semantics," Elizabeth countered, feeling strangely hurt.

"I am business man," Cutler agreed.

She just wanted to know who he really was…just wanted him to lose control a little bit. She just wanted him to let her in.

Could he really only give her nothing?

Maybe she should be happy with nothing. With the bare minimum. Maybe she could force herself to be grateful. Marrying him was her choice, after all, and he was alive. He was alive and he gave the widow of her dead friend money. Wasn't that something she could be happy about? Couldn't that just be enough?

But the tears on her cheeks argued that it wasn't. That it couldn't. That it would never be.

"I just want to know who you are," Elizabeth's cry almost got lost in a round of thunder so forceful the walls shook. "Is that so terrible of a request for your wife to make?"

She went to bury her face in her hands but Cutler grabbed her forearms, looming over her and that look, violent and wild, was written all over his features. Her heart rate hadn't increased, but every thump felt harder somehow, like it was banging against her breast bone, trying to find a way out. Elizabeth was terrified. She was thrilled. She-

-was not expecting to be kissed.

His hands were on her, they were everywhere at once, claiming every inch of her, and he was pushing her back, off the trunk and on to the bed. His kiss was hard and demanding, a forceful, sloppy wet slide of tongues and lips and no room to breathe. He had never kissed her like this. He had never touched her like this. Normally he was so…_controlled_. Even in their bed.

He tugged on her hair and kissed and bit the column of her neck. She gasped, clutching him, writhing under him.

Was this his way of showing her who he really was?

Lightning flashed and so did his eyes, dark and blue and she could see, even in the firelight, that they were burning _for_ her. She lifted her head and pressed her lips to his, determined to show him that she could keep up. That she could take him, take all of him. That she could let him drown himself in her. That he could light her on fire and she could burn for him, too.

* * *

**A/N**: Hey, remember chapter 5? (That's technically number 6 on this site) :D

Cutler Beckett's birthday? Coincidentally, also Tom Hollander's. Elizabeth Beckett nee Swann's birthday? Coincidentally, also Keira Knightley's.

Thanks to Yassmin (Oh, I'm glad you felt bad for her! I was scared everyone was going to hate me for my little OC indulgence but I needed it to happen for future reasons. Also, we won't see much of Maggie until the end of this story, but she's going to be okay. ;) and to the guest reviewer (hey - your wish is my command!) for reviewing! And thanks to everyone who read or if you alerted or favorited.

**Spoiler** that will only make sense to sims players: do de do de dooooooo.

PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE! REVIEW!


	16. New

**Disclaimer**: No. Seriously. Mind the rating. Mind it good. UM and it is more fluffy than the last one you needed to mind the rating on. Not sorry.

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**Chapter Fifteen: New**

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Cutler was still in their bed when Elizabeth awoke the next morning. She knew this because neither of them had bothered to close the curtains the night previously, so the sun was shining bright in the room. And, even more telling than sunlight illuminating Cutler's sleeping form, was the fact that they were currently, _surprisingly_, curled around each other.

Which. Was new.

Elizabeth's head was tucked under his chin, resting on his arm like a pillow, her cold nose pushed against the hair on his chest. His free arm was limp over her waist and their legs were entwined helplessly. She wasn't sure she could disentangle herself from him even if she wanted to.

And, stranger still: she was not sure that she wanted to.

Of course, it wasn't the first time she had woken up naked in bed since being married; and even though it was a rarer occurrence, it wasn't the first time she had woken up naked with her husband in bed since being married either. But they didn't really...that is to say, that hadn't really…

Well. Cuddled. They were _cuddling_.

Which. Was new.

Her lips parted in a smile. It was, dare she think it, _nice_. Nice being a word Elizabeth had never - not once! - associated with her husband in the entirety of her knowing him. But she could get _used_ to this.

And that thought only had a half moment to absolutely _terrify_ her before she realized that his hand was pressing, firm and warm, against the small of her back. Elizabeth scraped her teeth against her bottom lip, slowly tilting her head on his bicep until she could see his face. She had a thought to say something, to whisper good morning, but her breath hitched in her throat when she saw a look in his eyes that she couldn't quite place; they were dark and locked on hers as his fingers traced over the curve of her rear.

His hand trailed down her thigh and caressed the back of her knee before lifting her leg over his waist. He pressed himself against her and her moan was lost in the silence of the room when his lips covered hers. The kiss was gentle, unhurried, _luxurious_ and Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to close her eyes.

She takes him when he rocked into her; wrapped her arms around him when he buried his face in her neck; cried out in a strangled whisper when she came apart at the seems.

They stayed like that for a minute, still wrapped around each other, wrapped in each other, trying to regain control over their breathing. Elizabeth was scared that if either of them opened their mouth, if words were brought into the moment, it would be ruined. It would be lost.

She didn't want to lose it.

He started to pull away from her. She could see him take in a breath and open his mouth to speak, so she kissed him. Softly, _smiling_, she pressed her lips against the corner of his and it was enough to stop whatever train of thought he was going to give a voice to.

She was not sure she could bear it if he said something to minimize it, to excuse it, to pretend like it didn't happen. All Elizabeth had wanted was to know who he was; and though she didn't get it all, didn't get all of _him_, she got more of him in one night and one morning than in almost five months of marriage…and she would fight to hold on to what she was given.

Elizabeth sat up on her elbows and unabashedly watched him get dressed. It was a strange sight to behold, for sure - the transformation that took place. He started as Cutler Beckett, her husband. Rose's son. And he ended as _Lord_ _Beckett_, Governor of the East India Trading Company. She could recognize him either way, yes. But she most definitely prefered one over the other.

Quietly, Elizabeth rose from the bed and approached him, not bothering to grab her nightgown off the floor. She adjusted his cravat around his neck, widening her eyes in a silent reprimand when he opened his mouth to speak.

_Don't ruin it. Please._

With a small smile, she set his hat on his head for him, took his face in between her hands, and kissed his chin.

_Please. Don't ruin it._

And she was pleasantly caught off guard when he did not ruin it. When he let her stand there, too close, unclothed, and hold his face in her hands. She trailed her lips up from his chin, sucked his lower lip into her mouth and gently bit down.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides but he didn't touch her. His eyes darkened and narrowed and there was something on the tip of her tongue that she wanted to say, that she needed to say, but it was in his mouth before she had a chance to get the words off of it.

She wrapped her hands around the back his neck, let her forehead rest against his, and shared his breath. He smirked but didn't speak. Elizabeth stepped away from him, leveled him with a smirk of her own, and watched him leave their bedchamber without a single word uttered between the two of them.

She could get used to this.

_How terrifying._

xxxx

Elizabeth got mostly dressed, parts and pieces of an outfit hidden by a house coat, and lounged around in the sitting area of the bedroom with parchment and a quill and brunch. She had just finished up her monthly letter to Rose Beckett when Francie knocked on the door.

The older maid smiled shyly as she started to clean away the plates from Elizabeth's brunch. "Will the Lady be interested in a ride today?"

"Hm." Elizabeth hadn't thought about Fortuitous in almost a fortnight. She frowned when she realized she had been neglecting her horse in the aftermath of Thomas' death. "Yes, I think I will."

Francie offered to help Elizabeth into her riding habit and breeches, but she waved her hand dismissively.

"This I can do by myself!" She assured her maid and busied herself with getting ready.

Francie chuckled on her way out of the door and it was a delightful, happy noise that caused Elizabeth to smile.

Twirling her hat in her hands, Elizabeth walked down the halls of her husband's home, briefly wondering when she would think of it as her own. Goodness knows, she had spent enough of his money redecorating most of it - only their bedroom, the dining room and his study were still exactly as they had been when she had married him. As she walked out the front door she decided she would start on their bedroom the next day. And thinking about their bedroom made her smile. She bit her lip and tore her gaze away from the hat in her hands, glancing for her ride.

Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks when she realized…there was no waiting carriage at the gates, no Mr. Mercer hovering nearby. There was only Fortuitous, her beautiful Fortuitous, and a groom attending him.

"My lady," the man greeted, holding up her horse's reigns.

Elizabeth didn't fancy herself a girl who giggled, but she giggled in delight as she pulled herself onto the saddle on For's back.

"Hi, For," she greeted, leaning forward and scratching him behind his ear. "Did you miss me?"

He whinnied and she giggled again, guiding him passed the gates.

* * *

**A/N**: It's like this: I've been fiddling with this chapter for two weeks and if I keep looking at it I'll go crazy. Please **review** and tell me whether or not I should have kept fiddling. ;p

**Thanks** to everyone who reviewed since the last chapter was posted! Which, includes: 3(?) _Guest_s, _DemonicSymphony_, and _Yassmin_. And thanks again for reading, and if you alerted or favorited. :)

**Spoiler** for future chapters: We've got a few (well I call them) "_happy"_ chapters up next until ~someone shows up and complicates things. Mmhmm. I wonder who it could be! :D

**Spoiler** for the spoiler: It's Jack. He shows up _around_ chapter 22(ish).


	17. Requests and Propositions

**Disclaimer**: MIND THE RATING AGAIN THIS IS HAPPENING A LOT LATELY ISN'T IT YOU ARE WELCOME.

**Warnings**: I'm calling it consensual "role play." Consensual is the key word here, but, yeah. It's like…role play light, really. Diet role play, if you will.

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**Chapter Sixteen: Requests and Propositions**

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"You summoned me, your highness." Elizabeth strolled into Lord Beckett's study and pointedly ignored the pointed look he flashed her from behind his desk.

He lifted a hand from one of the two matching stacks of paper he was sorting through and waved at her usual armchair in an obvious order to sit down.

Elizabeth disregarded this in favor of trying to see what he was working on. Her brows came together when she noticed a long, slender box placed on the side of his desk.

"What's this?" She asked, but opened the box without waiting for an answer. And like she knew there would be, inside the box was a sword.

Lord Beckett sighed, and Elizabeth couldn't tell if it was because she hadn't taken the seat, or because she had opened the box, or both. "A gift from the widow Dunwell."

Oh. Thomas' sword.

Frowning, Elizabeth picked it up and, using a trick she had learned from Will, checked its balance. She was not surprised to find it perfectly balanced. Elizabeth tossed it in the air and flipped it before catching it easily - the flourish something Will had found to be necessary - and reverently set Thomas' sword back in its box.

It took her a moment to realize that Lord Beckett was staring at her with a look that could only be described as sheer surprise.

He blinked once and cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Take a seat, Elizabeth."

Smiling brightly, she perched herself on the green armchair.

She'd forgotten how much fun _Bothering Beckett_ was.

"I received word last week that one of my shareholders is on his way to Port Royal. Apparently, Sir Leopold Thackery is interested in the Company's Caribbean expanse. He will be here in a fortnight."

"I see," Elizabeth said, though she really didn't.

He picked up his quill and twirled it around the fingers of his right hand, never taking his eyes off her face. "I have a request to make of you."

"Of me?" Elizabeth repeated, unable to mask her disbelief.

"We are going to host a dinner party the day after his arrival."

She huffed in unexpected amusement. "We are?"

He nodded once and turned his attention to the quill in his hand. Elizabeth's eyes followed, momentarily distracted by his fingers, smudged with ink, as they dexterously handled the quill. "I will oversee the guest list, of course," he said, drawing her attention away from his hand. "Nothing large. But you will be in charge of the invitations, the menu and preparing the staff." He quirked an eyebrow at his quill. "The staff have so far gone untested in this area."

Elizabeth grinned and her voice was teasing when she asked, "You haven't hosted many dinner parties, my lord?"

He set the quill down on one of the stacks of paper. "No more than absolutely necessary."

"And this is necessary."

"Yes."

Elizabeth kept her posture perfect and her eyes on her husband as she rolled her tongue in her mouth, considering. It was not a terrible request of him to make of her and she _had_ enjoyed two weeks straight of uninhibited freedom. Well, at least two weeks of no longer having Ian Mercer track her every move. And she _did_ have For back.

She rose from her seat and approached his bookshelves.

"Will you define what you mean by 'nothing large'?" Elizabeth trailed her fingers over the titles. He had so many reference books she was surprised to find a copy of Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

"A dozen or fewer."

She pulled the book from the shelf and gently flipped through the pages. "I suppose I am agreeable to that."

Lord Beckett was at her side, his warm breath ghosting across her bare neck, and he reached for the book in her hands. "Are you ready for your beating?"

A crease formed in-between her eyebrows, pouting her lips in uncertainty. It took the twitch of his mouth when he set the book back on the shelf to realize he was talking about chess.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and bit back a smile. "As I recall, I won the last game."

"Hm." Lord Beckett pulled out a seat for her at the board. "I _hav_e been saying for several months now that you need your head examined."

"Considering I agreed to marry you?" Elizabeth scrunched her nose as she sat down. "You might be right."

He gave her a half hearted glare, obviously too familiar with her antics to put the effort into glaring at her properly. "Such impudence."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, scoffing loudly. "_You're_ impudent."

"Oh, so clever, Elizabeth," Cutler replied, taking a seat. "Really."

"Yes, I thought so."

"You would."

"_You_ would."

"Are you even listening to yourself?"

"I always listen to myself. It's you I ignore."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Your wit is sparkling, Lady Beckett. Truly."

"Well, I aim only to please you, my love."

He coughed lightly into his hand.

Elizabeth preened, sitting up straighter and removing her finger from her pawn. She had to fight back the ear-splitting grin threatening to take over her face. _Bothering Beckett_ was her favorite hobby, after all.

xxxx

Elizabeth did _not_ tug self-consciously on her riding habit as she walked into the backyard, having been summoned by her husband to appear wearing her breeches and offering no explanation as to why. Francie had simply shrugged, both arms in the air, and offered to help put Elizabeth's hair up.

Lord Beckett was speaking with Mr. Mercer near the back wall of the house. She had wondered if perhaps they were going to be riding horses (which was a stretch of the imagination, to say the least) but her husband was not dressed in riding gear and they were quite a distance away from the stables.

"Good evening, Mr. Mercer," Elizabeth greeted loudly, interrupting their conversation with a bright smile on her face. "Are you to join my husband and I on this mystery errand?"

Lord Beckett flashed her what could only be described as a quelling look. She ran her tongue over her teeth in response, still smiling.

"Thank you, Mr. Mercer," dismissed Lord Beckett and the older man immediately obeyed, only pausing for half a moment to sneer in Elizabeth's general direction.

She waited until he had rounded the corner of the house. "I don't think he likes me," she said conversationally.

"No," Lord Beckett agreed. "I should think not."

"I don't know why." Elizabeth closed the distance between them with a deliberately flirty step to her gait. "I'm rather adorable."

Lord Beckett's eyebrows twitched and he gave a noncommittal "hm" before unbuttoning his coat. "I see you are dressed appropriately for once."

Elizabeth eyed him curiously, pursing her lips when he shrugged out of his coat and walked away from her. A small table had been set up against the back wall and she watched as Lord Beckett laid his coat and hat upon it. He blocked the view of whatever else might be on the table; she tried to peer over his shoulder while he undid his cravat and rolled up his sleeves.

"I have a proposition for you," he said, his full attention on his shirt sleeves.

"You seem to be requiring a lot of me as of late," Elizabeth retorted, her tone exceedingly teasing.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in what she was beginning to understand was his I-Dare-You face. "It's been a number of months since I've been able to find time for sparring. If you can best me, you may keep this."

Lord Beckett moved to the side just enough that Elizabeth could join him at the table, opening up the box she had seen the day before and revealing Thomas' sword. Her eyes widened and it took a great deal of effort not to immediately reach for it.

"And if I cannot?"

It had been years since she had sparred with Will and she was undoubtedly rusty, if not completely incompetent.

He smiled at her, an ever so slight twitch of the corners of his mouth, and leaned close enough to her that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. He smelled like ink and brandy and wig powder.

Elizabeth's tongue darted out to wet her lips.

His nose traced the shell of her ear before he whispered, "I get your breeches."

A coquettish grin spread across her face before she had a chance to even think about stopping it. "I'm not so certain they would fit you, my lord."

"Hm." Lord Beckett picked up Thomas' sword and offered it to her, handle first. "Do we have an accord?"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, unsure of what he was planning but not quite able to wipe the grin off her face entirely, and gripped the cutlass.

"Yes."

xxxx

"_No_, Elizabeth. You are attempting to strike my sword, not me."

Panting, Elizabeth could do little more than glare at her husband. "Well, pardon me for not wanting to kill you just yet."

Cutler was not amused. "You need to keep your eyes on me, not on my sword."

"On you?"

"Yes. Watch me. Try to determine where I am going to aim and then strike there."

She huffed and wiped and the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. "And how do I do that?"

He shrugged a single shoulder. "There are any number of signs in which I might give myself away. Watch for where I put my feet or where I look. Watch for the movement of my arms. Put your sword where I am going to strike." Cutler raised his weapon. "Honestly, Elizabeth, you're terrible at this."

Elizabeth was glaring as fiercely as she could manage when she raised her sword. "When did you become such an expert?"

His eyes flashed towards her right and if Elizabeth hadn't been watching him she would have never noticed. She immediately followed with her sword. His cutlass bounced off hers with a resounding clang and she hated to admit that he had been right.

"Not long after my seventeenth birthday," he said, raising his sword once more. "Again."

xxxx

Lord and Lady Beckett trained for well over an hour in the back yard. It was hot and Elizabeth was tired; a perfect little drop of sweat rolling down from her hair line and falling off the point of her nose only seemed to exemplify both issues. He parried and her sword flew out of her hands and Elizabeth was so exhausted she was relieved to have finally lost.

Cutler held his sword point to her neck. Elizabeth clenched her jaw, her breathing ragged, and tried not to look afraid.

"What are you doing?" She hissed.

"Claiming my prize," he replied as if it were obvious.

Her eyes grew wide. "Here?!"

The left corner of his lips twitched as he pressed the sword point closer to her skin. "We are alone. You are unarmed. What can you do to stop me?"

His sword did not waver as he started to walk in a slow circle around her, stalking her. Elizabeth stood as still as she could, willing herself to not even breathe, as he came up behind her and whispered in her ear.

"You cannot run away."

He pressed himself against her back and Elizabeth shivered.

Cutler's free hand clasped over her mouth. He kissed the base of her neck before quietly ordering, "Don't scream."

Elizabeth had only barely nodded her consent before he dropped his weapon and shoved her against the wall of the house. He kept one hand over her mouth, the other working the fastenings of her riding habit, trailing kisses over any exposed skin he could find. His knee nudged her legs open wider, pushed against her, and Elizabeth moaned.

He tightened his hand around her mouth. "Be a good girl now," he lightly scraped his teeth along her collar bone, "and don't make a sound."

Elizabeth sucked his index finger into her mouth and Cutler broke his own rule before ripping the buttons off her trousers.

She gasped and released his finger. "Someone might see."

He grinned against her chest, nipping at her skin. "That, Elizabeth, is entirely the point."

xxxx

The next day, Francie was gathering her lady's clothes to be laundered and discovered the ruined breeches. She quirked a brow but kept her mouth closed, discretely disposing of the pants and placing an order with the seamstress for two more.

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**Giving Credit Where it is Due**: There is a scene in **So Much To Learn** by _Adhesive Princess_ on ff.n in which Jack and Elizabeth have a sword fighting lesson that was a large inspiration for this chapter. So, if you're a Sparrabether, (and you haven't read it already lol) you should check it out! It's super long and well written and you can really lose yourself in it. PLUS some brown chicka brown chow. (I'm sorry. That's from Real Housewives of New Jersey and it still makes me laugh whenever I think about it. I have terrible taste.)

I realize that Elizabeth thinks her husband riding horse is a 'stretch of the imagination' but, as we can see in his big entrance in _Dead Man's Chest_, he does in fact ride one. I highly doubt it was Tom Hollander on that horse, however. lol. Although, I don't know him. I don't know his life. Maybe he rides horses. Maybe that's how he rolls. He can do what he wants.

I interchange _sword_ and _cutlass_ and that is probably _wrong_ but there are only so many times I can see the same word used over and over again before I start to question my sanity.

**Thanks**: to _Lady Bluebell Beckett_, _FFWorm2001_, _DemonicSymphony_, _Yassmin_, _C.L._, and both _Guest_(s) for reviewing and to everyone who is reading or has alerted/favorited. You guys are the best! :)

**Spoiler** for next chapter: Quite a bit of (rather vague, actually) backstory for Cutler dear. PLUS the next few chapters are super long. So, you know, plan accordingly.

Please review! Whether you liked it or not, feedback means the world to me! :)


	18. Pillow Talk

**Disclaimer**: I dunno. "Thackery" probably belongs to Disney too, right? (He's the crazy, cooking march hare from _Alice in Wonderland, 2010_) (BTW, was the Hatter supposed to be Alice's love interest or father figure? Because…_both_? Maybe? …Right?) (I've totally read some AiW ff where he is, indisputably, the love interest, lol. But I just re-watched the movie and it ~felt like Burton was going for the father figure thing more.) (Parentheses)

**Warnings**: Slavery is mentioned. Religion is discussed. Both briefly.

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**Chapter Seventeen: Pillow Talk**

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She couldn't sleep. Elizabeth wasn't sure if she was nervous or excited or overworked or all three, but the end results were frayed nerves, a tired body and a restless mind…none of which were particularly conducive to sleep.

With a loud sigh, Elizabeth rose out of bed and sat at the vanity. She brushed out her hair - _again_ - and decided to plait it. Her mother used to braid Elizabeth's hair before bed every night. At least, before she got too sick to do so. She would braid Elizabeth's hair and tell stories and sometimes - if Elizabeth was _very_ good - sing a song. Since her mother's death, it had become a trick Elizabeth sometimes employed if she was having trouble sleeping.

When she finished the plait and she was not even remotely drowsy, Elizabeth unfurled it and started again, frowning at her reflection. She was running out of tricks.

She could see the bedroom door open in the mirror; Lord Beckett walked in, carrying several books under his arm.

"You missed dinner," she said to his reflection.

"And good evening to you as well, Lady Beckett," he replied, setting the books down on his end table. "Work today was exhaustingly productive, thank you so much for asking."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Hello my lord so happy you are home," she said in monotone.

She watched his fingers work loose his cravat in the mirror, her own pausing their work plaiting her hair. He quirked a brow at her reflection, apparently noticing her staring, and she cleared her throat and forced her fingers to move again, trying very hard not to blush.

Finished with her hair, Elizabeth turned away from the vanity. "Are you prepared for Sir Thackery's arrival?"

The look that flashed across his face as he set his wig on its stand suggested that he could not have cared any less about Sir Thackery's imminent arrival than he did at that moment. "Quite."

"Well, everyone we invited will be in attendance for the dinner party," she said, pouting her lips. "Next time, however, I do not think I will agree to _you_ being in charge of the guest list."

He yawned and shrugged out of his waistcoat.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and wracked her brain…had she ever seen him yawn before?

He sighed heavily when he began to unbutton his shirt, turning towards her and giving her a good view of the circles under his eyes that had not been there when he left for work that morning.

She frowned and rose from her chair. "Come here," she instructed, even though she approached him and he did not move from his spot.

Elizabeth swatted his hands away and finished unbuttoning his shirt for him, ignoring the exasperated look he leveled her. She pressed her palms against his flat stomach and slowly ran them up over his chest, pushing his shirt gently off his shoulders. "Oh." Her frown deepened. "You're very tense."

His neck and shoulder muscles were so stiff they were positively rigid and she worried her bottom lip. "What on earth have you been up to?"

"Working," Cutler drawled, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face. "I am aware that it is a concept you are unfamiliar with, however-"

"Sit." Elizabeth pointed at the bed. When the only movement he made was to furrow his brow she glared and pointed even harder.

He sighed again but acquiesced, taking a seat on his side of the bed, planting his still shoed feet on the floor. "I fail to see the purpose of this," he announced, eyeing her quizzically as she crawled up behind him on the bed.

"Well, I can't sleep," Elizabeth said as if it were obvious, rising up on her knees and placing her hands on his shoulders. "And you're as stiff as a board." She started kneading his muscles, thumbs taking extra care of the juncture of his neck and shoulders, and Cutler moaned so softly she almost didn't hear it.

Elizabeth grinned in reply. "Honestly, my lord, you are behind a desk most of the day, are you not?"

Cutler didn't reply, instead resting his elbows on his knees. The long, opaque scars that crisscrossed his back drew her attention as he moved and she had the strangest urge to see if she could kiss them away. Elizabeth traced the curve of his spine with her fingers before resuming her ministrations.

"Why have you never done this before?" He asked her, his voice a low timbre. "I think we might have stumbled across the one thing you actually have a talent for, Lady Beckett."

She pinched the soft skin of his underarm.

He hissed, glaring at her over his shoulder.

She smiled prettily in return, fluttering her eyelashes.

He made a face like he tasted something sour and turned back around.

Elizabeth worked the muscles of Cutler's back with her fingers in firm circles, starting from the center and stopping just above his breeches. He awarded her with a quiet hum of satisfaction. She focused on her hands, on applying pressure to his stiff muscles, and tried very hard not to study his scars.

Cutler gave a gratified grunt, his back curving once again when he reached for his shoes. She watched his scars stretch across his pale skin.

His empty shoes softly thumped to the floor. "We lost a ship today."

Elizabeth's hands stilled as she processed his quietly uttered sentence. "Pirates?"

"So it would seem."

She sat down on her ankles. "The same ones who took a ship back in April?"

Cutler tossed his stockings to the floor. There was a frown evident in his voice when he replied, "There is no way of knowing that, unfortunately."

"No survivors, then," Elizabeth told her fingers as they trailed down his back.

"No," Cutler agreed, arching when she came across a particularly tight knot. "A complete loss."

"What were they carrying?" She asked, thumbs once again working the taught muscles where his neck and his shoulders joined.

He hummed in appreciation, tilting his head forward. "Nothing special. Different spices, some lace. Opium."

"Hm."

"Mostly opium."

"I see."

"And tea, of course."

Elizabeth ran her fingers through his short, brown hair, lightly scratching her nails across his scalp. "Of course."

"The fact that sailors keep insisting on their right to have families only complicates matters."

Elizabeth frowned and narrowed her eyes at the back of his head. "You do realize that _you_ have a family."

Cutler lifted his right elbow off his knee long enough to wave a dismissive hand. "I've visited with my mother once in the past ten years."

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed. "She came to Port Royal for our wedding." To emphasize her point, she dug her wedding ring in the skin over his left kidney.

Cutler jumped where he sat. "_Bloody hell_!"

"Oops," Elizabeth grinned unapologetically. "So sorry."

"Not to mention," he continued, a slight edge to his voice she found to be rather placating, "that I am the governor of the entire company and not a common sailor."

She quirked a brow and stopped touching him. "So _you_ have the right to have a mother."

He opened his mouth, probably to tell her off, but his reprimand got caught up in a yawn. And Elizabeth desperately wanted to be annoyed with him…but she had seen Cutler yawn exactly two times in their almost six months of marriage and it caused something close to her heart to ache.

"Lie down," she ordered.

He seemed positively befuddled by her demand. She raised both of her eyebrows, _daring_ him, and he rolled his eyes but complied. Elizabeth scooted down to the end of the bed and crossed her legs underneath her. Keeping the I-Dare-You look on her face, Elizabeth gently grabbed Cutler by both ankles and started firmly massaging the arches of his feet.

"I brought you a book," Cutler said after a few quiet moments.

Her surprise must have been obvious because he followed his statement with, "It's Shakespeare, which I realize is too advanced for you, darling, but we all must start somewhere."

Elizabeth stuck her thumbnail into the pad of his left pinky toe.

"Ow!" Cutler jerked his foot out of her lap and flashed her the fiercest glare he could muster; unfortunately, it was immediately dampened by yet another yawn.

She smiled despite herself and reached for his foot, softly rubbing his injured pinky toe before caressing his heel. She took her time massaging each foot, steadily working her way from the heel to the ball of the foot and back again.

Cutler snored.

Elizabeth blinked.

He twitched in his sleep, snored again, and Elizabeth tried exceptionally hard not to smile at her sleeping husband.

"Yawning and snoring?" She asked, shifting out from under his feet so she could stand. "My, how the mighty have fallen."

He didn't stir.

Sighing quietly to herself, Elizabeth retrieved an extra blanket from the trunk at the foot of the bed. "I wonder what Mr. Mercer would say about this," she teased, carefully arranging the blanket over Cutler. "Yawning and snoring and being tucked in by your little, nagging wife."

Her only reply was another loud snore.

"Oh, yes," she carried on as if he had spoken, "I'm sure the two of you have lots of lovely names for me, don't you?"

She shook her head and caught sight of the books he had deposited on his end table. "Well," she moved closer to find the book he had brought her, "maybe reading will help put me to sleep."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise when she realized that what she thought was a stack of books was actually a massive tome entitled _Mythology: Norse, Gaelic, Greek and Roman_ and a copy of Shakespeare's _The Taming of the Shrew_. Her mouth dropped open as she picked up the smaller of the two books.

"The taming of the shrew?!" She shrilled in a whisper. "Oh," she planted a fist on her hip and nodded her head at Cutler. "Oh, you. You are hilarious. So hilarious. I-"

He twitched in his sleep, rolled on to his side, and Elizabeth exhaled.

"I will read this," she announced. "But only because the alternative," she gestured at the giant mythology book, "would crush me if I were to fall asleep with it in my hands."

Pleased with her decision, Elizabeth strolled over to her side of the bed with her chin thrusted up and her lips tightly pursed. She slid into the sheets, cracked open the book, and read.

She fell asleep with it in her hands less than twenty minutes later.

xxxx

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, she was alone and his side of the bed was cold.

xxxx

Elizabeth did not see Lord Beckett until he returned home that evening, an older gentleman in tow.

"Ah, so wonderful to finally meet you, Lady Beckett," Sir Thackery gushed, bringing both of her hands up to his mouth and dropping kisses on each. "You are even lovelier than I had been told."

Elizabeth grinned broadly over his bent head at her husband, who seemed largely unimpressed by the gesture, before letting her attention fall on Sir Thackery's face. He looked to be not much younger than her father, with bushy, gray eyebrows and deep laugh lines framing intelligent green eyes.

She craned her neck and whispered conspiratorially, "I like you already."

He laughed and squeezed her fingers before letting go of her hands.

Lord and Lady Beckett brought their guest into the drawing room. Sir Thackery accepted his drink from Lord Beckett with a nod of his head and then perused the room, his eyes lingering over the large portrait of three EITC ships that hung over the fireplace. It had been part of Cutler's collection, obviously, but Elizabeth had found herself fond of it; of the ships themselves, and the perfectly cloudless sky, and the color of the waves as they crested over the three hulls. Sir Thackery took a sip of his brandy and then used his glass to point at the picture.

"Lord Penwallow has nothing but positive things to say about you."

It seemed for the very briefest of moments that the older man was addressing the portrait. She smiled to herself as her husband inclined his head.

"You enjoyed your stop over in New Avalon, then?"

Sir Thackery nodded, taking a seat on the armchair closest to the fireplace. "It's a stunning piece of land he's got out there. Have you been?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Lord Beckett replied, looking at his wife and not the man to whom he was replying.

"Yes, yes," Sir Thackery waved a hand. "I must say you_ are_ a busy man. And to be so newly married to such a beautiful wife? It's no wonder you haven't made the trip." He winked at her and Elizabeth flashed him a cheeky grin.

Lord Beckett cleared his throat. "Lord Penwallow was in attendance for The Wedding," he said, and he said it as if _the wedding_ was deserving of proper capitalization.

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. She had the vaguest of memories of being briefly introduced to a Viscount Lord Something Something Penwallow and writing his name out on a letter of thanks, but his face was drawing a blank in her memory.

"Ah," Sir Thackery grinned at her again. "Yes, and he was the one who first told me of your loveliness. I must say, Lady Beckett, you do not disappoint."

"You have already earned my favor, Sir Thackery," Elizabeth replied. "You do not need to keep attempting to win me over."

Sir Thackery mockingly glared at her husband. "She speaks as if she is not used to being showered with compliments! What a travesty that would be, I'm sure."

A butler quietly entered the drawing room to inform Lord Beckett that dinner was ready whenever they were.

"Excellent," Sir Thackery said, standing and offering Elizabeth his arm. "I am a might peckish."

She smiled and, casting a quick glance in Lord Beckett's direction, placed her hand on the older man's elbow. The three of them followed behind the butler to the dining room.

"We lunched with your father and Admiral Norrington this afternoon at the fort, Lady Beckett," Sir Thackery informed her over their first course.

"Oh?"

"Yes, it was a great way to precede a tour of the docks." He picked up his drink and she thought he meant to take a sip, but instead he launched into a recap, apparently for her benefit, of the entire tour.

Elizabeth did her best to nod along and listen to their guest, but she was frightfully bored. To pass the time, whenever Sir Thackery looked away she would make a face at her husband from across the table. Lord Beckett responded the way Lord Beckett usually responded to her antics - he intermittently cycled between glaring, sighing, and coughing lightly into his fist. In fact, the entire meal would have been a big blur to Elizabeth except for one off hand comment Sir Thackery made over dessert.

"I am, admittedly, surprised that the Company isn't more involved in transporting slaves to the islands, Lord Beckett. They are useful to the plantation owners, are they not?"

Elizabeth pressed her napkin to her lips and willed herself not to speak. With slavery, as with all things, her father had found it best to lead by example, but not speak out. Elizabeth, however, had very little problems finding her voice, and it was only due to the fact that Sir Thackery had so far been nothing but kind, if rather dull, that kept her from opening her mouth.

Lord Beckett contemplated the wine in his glass before answering. "The Royal African is responsible for the trading of slaves in the west," he said simply, and just like that, the conversation shifted.

But it wasn't answer enough for Elizabeth.

xxxx

"I will concede that it is unseemly, Elizabeth. But it is also necessary."

Cutler was sitting up against the headboard, the humorously large mythology book open in his hands, his eyes narrowed as they scanned across the pages.

"I believe a pharaoh said something like that to Moses once." Elizabeth trailed her fingers over the stitching of their quilt. "And we know how well that turned out."

Cutler scoffed, amused. "The pharaoh's problem was not slavery nor a vengeful god, but rather a lack of negotiating skills."

Elizabeth watched him as he read his book. "You think you could out negotiate Moses' pharaoh?"

He raised his eyes to look at her, smirking slyly.

Her mouth dropped open. "You think you could out negotiate God! There is something wrong with you, truly."

"Please," he said. "God does not exist. And I could certainly out think any man who believes otherwise."

"I don't believe it," Elizabeth muttered to herself. "I married an atheist."

His lips twitched. "An atheist with a wing of a church dedicated to him."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, a grin crossing over her mouth. "You are most welcome, my lord."

Cutler inclined his head in a show of mock appreciation for her more charitable efforts in his name, his eyes moving back to the book in his hands.

She frowned deeply and twirled a loose strand of hair around her index finger. "This Lord Penwallow…"

"Hm?"

"He's of some importance."

Sighing, Cutler agreed.

Elizabeth slid down from her half seated position until she was flat on her back. She fluffed her pillow and turned on her side, pulling the quilt up to her chin. "I should like to know of what kind."

"He was the Company's Director for African Affairs." His blue eyes quickly scanned over the pages of his book, and Elizabeth entertained herself by imagining him with glasses perched on the very end of his nose.

"He is your friend," she pressed, because she didn't think he had any. Unless you counted Ian Mercer, which Elizabeth, decidedly, did not.

"He came to The Wedding," he conceded, and she grinned into her pillow at the way he said it.

She yawned, pulling the quilt tighter around her shoulders. "I only vaguely remember him, unfortunately. I think I should have liked to - to spend…" Elizabeth's brow furrowed, her groggy brain springing back to life. "Is that…is that where you were?"

His eyes flickered over to her face. "What are you rambling on about now?"

Elizabeth sat up on her elbow, mouth falling open. "During our wedding! You kept - you kept disappearing! And here I thought it was work related-"

"It was."

"-but you were just, what? Drinking with your mates?!"

"Elizabeth," he drawled, marking his place with his fingertips, "you are being ridiculous."

She huffed loudly and rolled over onto her other side. "No, you're ridiculous!"

"Oh, this again?"

"Yes!" She kicked off the bedclothes, unfazed by the fact that it took three frantic kicks off her legs to do so, and sat up on her knees. "Yes, this again! And while we're at it!" She pointed a finger at his nose and he stared down at it with his eyebrow quirked. "I'm not complimented as much as I should like!"

Cutler's quirked eyebrow twitched. "I beg your pardon," he said, pushing her finger away.

She stuck it back under his nose, rising up as high as she could on her knees and thrusting out her chin. "Sir Thackery repeatedly called me lovely this evening and I cannot recall one instance in our entire relationship when you have said one complimentary thing about me."

When his only response was a lack of one, she plopped down onto her bottom, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips. "I am not convinced that saying one nice thing about me will be the death of you."

"Very well." Cutler slammed his book closed and hoisted it onto his end table. "Elizabeth," he whispered, placing two fingers under her chin and forcing her to look at him, "you are simply the most beautiful girl in this entire room."

* * *

**A/N**: So, this story is going to be filled with anachronisms, mostly because, well 1 - I'm an idiot. And 2 - all my research is done on that there google. But I just wanted to address Cutler's Royal African comment. According to that there google, what he said was technically true. The Royal African was the larger of the English slave trading businesses, and they were responsible for the majority of the slaves brought over to the west. But Cutler_ was_ careful with his answer, because the East India Company _did_ trade slaves from Madagascar to India and the East Indies. This omission was entirely for Elizabeth's benefit, I'm sure.

**Thanks**: to _Lady Elizabeth Beckett_ and _DemonicSymphony_ and, of course, the _guest _for reviewing!

I would ask that if you liked this chapter, to **please leave a review**, because I kind of hate it? But if I keep looking at it I'm liable to just delete it and I don't know. Maybe that would be best? lol. If you DO NOT like this chapter, before you flame me and curse my name for all eternity, I can promise you that the next chapter is better. Well, at least, I don't hate it as much as I hate this one. :D

**Spoiler** for next chapter: Dinner party time.


	19. Drink Me

**Disclaimer**: Pretty sure Alex belongs to Dan Harmon, actually.

**Warnings**: Um. Shakespearean foreplay, ya'll.

.

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**Chapter Eighteen: Drink Me**

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Just a short time before the guests were due to arrive, Elizabeth found herself to be highly annoyed for a variety of different reasons, and towards a variety of different people.

Firstly: she was annoyed with her husband, because the whole thing had been his idea to begin with, and he thrust the responsibility of it onto her and that was largely unfair. Even though she could, intellectually, understand that since she was now a Married Woman (capital letters decidedly necessary) the entertaining of the guests and the maintaing of the house were her responsibilities. But _he_ had married _her_, hadn't he? So - his fault. All of it.

Secondly, and consequently, Thirdly: she was annoyed with Mrs. Scott (the wife of a successful sugar plantation owner) for, upon receiving her invitation, inquiring as to whether or not Sir Thackery was currently married. And oh, by the way, Dear Elizabeth (Mrs. Scott had written at the very end of her note) my daughters would love the opportunity to see your new home. Which had annoyed Elizabeth to no end because Amelia and Millicent Scott were nasally, nosey, nettlesome young women whom she had spent the past eight years actively avoiding.

Fourthly, and finally: she was annoyed with herself for being in such a tizzy about the whole endeavor. It was just dinner, for goodness sake. Her first one, yes, in her new life with her new husband that she had planned and was hosting and…but that was hardly good enough reason to be in such a state.

"May I help you find something, my lady?" Esther asked in a soft, soothing voice as Elizabeth crashed through the kitchen. She had surveyed Cook's preparations which, as far as she could tell, looked fine. Honestly, Elizabeth knew more about swords than she did about stoves. It smelled wonderful, and she knew enough to understand that that was the most important part.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, rifling through the pantry. "Oh. No, I was just…" She sighed and gave the maid a small smile. "Would it be terribly inappropriate of me to have just a sip of sherry before the guests arrive?"

Esther flushed and mumbled something that might have been an apology, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"Fine." She ran her hands down her skirts, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and counting her breaths. She didn't bother to smile at Esther as she stepped past her to get out of the pantry and back into the kitchen.

Cook crooked a finger at her and Elizabeth, uncertain, arched a brow but obeyed. He turned his head to watch Esther leave the room before reaching behind a stack of plates and pulling out an open bottle of half consumed sherry.

Elizabeth sighed and poured herself a drink. "Thank you, Cook."

"My name is Alex," he told her, sounding moderately offended as he checked on the biscuits.

She raised her glass to him. "To my new friend, Alex, then."

Mollified, he grinned and offered her a refill.

xxxx

Elizabeth was _not_ drunk. At least, not _very_ drunk. She had only had enough sherry to feel pleasantly warm, not obnoxiously tipsy. And as Millicent batted her eyelashes at Admiral Norrington, Elizabeth stared down at her glass of water and really and truly wished it was rum.

Which made her narrow her eyes at her glass because…why rum specifically?

Oh, boy. Maybe she _was_ drunk.

Lord Beckett was at the foot of the ridiculously large table, directly across from her, and she watched his lips move as he spoke with Sir Thackery. She couldn't hear what he was saying over the conversations taking place closer to her (Oh, Admiral Norrington! You really _must_ come by for tea! The plantation is lovely this time of year, isn't it, Father?) but she was absolutely transfixed on his mouth nonetheless. Because just the night before, his mouth…

Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Definitely a might tipsy.

She turned her head and smiled at Mrs. Pennyworth who was seated on her immediate left. "I really can't thank you enough for coming," she said and meant it.

"Oh, it's our pleasure, dear," Mrs. Pennyworth returned her smile. "It was so thoughtful of you to invite us. You have a truly lovely home."

Elizabeth didn't mention that Cutler had given her basically unlimited access to his money and she had used the funds to her full advantage to redecorate the majority of the house, just like she didn't talk about the fact that all she could really think about was Cutler's mouth on her skin, Cutler's voice making her whole body hum, Cutler's tongue-

"I'm glad you think so," Elizabeth managed to say with a sharp intake of breath. "I would like to update the backyard, I think. More room for the horses, you know."

And sword fighting…and torn breeches and being pushed up against a wall and-

Mrs. Pennyworth nodded her agreement and Elizabeth bit her lip, forcefully pushing her husband out of her mind. She definitely had too much to drink.

"I only wish Maggie…" she let her voice trail off, knowing it was a selfish wish, but not quite able to wish something else.

"Oh, I know, dear," Mrs. Pennyworth covered Elizabeth's hand with her own. "But she's going to be all right, I'm certain of it."

Millicent giggled behind her fingers at something that Admiral Norrington said, and it was a loud enough, _fake_ enough, that it stole Elizabeth's attention. The admiral, for his part, looked utterly confused by the outburst, before attempting to curl his lips in a polite smile.

It took a great deal of effort not to roll her eyes. Who knows - maybe James had said something exceptionally hilarious. But the look that Mrs. Pennyworth flashed her way suggested that Elizabeth was not the only one who thought the girlish giggle rang false.

The servants came and cleared the plates, changed the table cloth, poured everyone wine and set new dishes down. Elizabeth stared down at the her glass that was now filled with wine and not rum (instead of water and not rum) and thought about discreetly signaling Francie and asking for water instead but her father raised his glass.

"To my daughter, Elizabeth," he said, and everyone else followed his lead, raising their glasses and toasting to her health.

It was only her governess' lessons, her grandmother's voice, that kept her from blushing root to tip. She kept her chin raised, smiled gratefully at her father, and refused to let the Scott sisters see her sweat.

Lord Beckett caught her eye as he raised his glass, the corners of his lips twitching and Elizabeth could feel her cheeks warm. She took a sip of her wine and wished, yet again, for something stronger.

Conversation continued on around her. Weatherby and Mr. Pennyworth were chatting like old friends about fishing - which Elizabeth quirked a brow at but didn't speak into, because she was fairly certain her father had never fished once in his life. Sir Thackery was listening to Mr. Scott as Mr. Scott, presumably, either rambled on about his daughters or his plantation, both subjects Elizabeth found to be offensive. Mrs. Pennyworth and Mrs. Scott were valiantly trying to discuss the latest hat related fashions, even though neither women really kept up on such things, or even enjoyed the other's company. Amelia and Millicent were whispering to each other, casting glances Elizabeth's way, and she had to act like a good hostess who did not notice when she was being gossiped about.

She sipped her wine again and looked down the table. Lord Beckett and Admiral Norrington were speaking to each other, their voices so low she couldn't make out anything they were saying. Lord Beckett's fingers were absentmindedly trailing over the stem of his wine glass and her eyes were drawn to the movement.

He had such…distracting fingers. Long and warm and slightly calloused from writing and wielding a sword. She shifted in her seat, surprised by the coiling sensation low in her stomach. What was _happening_ to her?

She glared at her glass. She would never drink alcohol again. Right in the middle of a dinner party had to be the _most_ inappropriate time to be lusting over her husband.

Lusting. Elizabeth almost snorted. She was certainly _not_!

She took a delicate bite of her stuffed pork and decided she needed to collect her wits. Obviously, allowing Alex to refill her glass of sherry for the third time had been a mistake. In the moment she had just enjoyed the calming, warming sensation each sip had brought her. But now…!

She shifted in her seat again, but the movement only seemed to exacerbate her problem. She sniffed lightly and pouted her lips, resigning herself to the fact the this was going to be a very long night.

Lord Beckett caught her eye again - a quick glance, a slow smirk - before returning his attention back to James. Elizabeth frowned and noticed that what she thought had been an absentminded gesture of his fingers trailing across the glass were, perhaps, not absentminded at all.

She almost gasped. He was doing this on purpose! He knew - he _knew_! - what she was feeling and was not only acting like he did not know, did not care, he was purposefully trying to be distracting. Elizabeth glared at her husband and his stupid, distracting, _brilliant_ fingers, took a deep breath through her nostrils and joined in on the conversation about hats.

A very long night, indeed.

xxxx

"It is a lovely house, Eliza dear." Amelia's smile did not quite reach her eyes. "A bit smaller than what I'm used to, I'm afraid, but it does have potential. Doesn't it, Millie?"

Millicent nodded. "Will Lord Beckett allow you to redecorate, Eliza darling? Certainly you will be able to convince him how important it is to keep decor updated. I can only imagine how difficult it is for you to entertain in a house that is so behind the times."

Elizabeth swallowed her immediate reply. It would do no good to lash out at the Scott sisters. Only eleven months apart in age, they should have just been twins, so singular in their mindset and so practiced in the art of being extraordinarily insulting while acting supportive. They were pretty girls, having inherited their father's height and their mother's heart shaped face, but Elizabeth suspected they had yet to forgive her for receiving the attention of James Norrington. Even if the attention was, by and large, unwanted and rebutted.

"Now, girls," Mrs. Scott intervened with a smile that did not reveal any teeth. "Lady Beckett has only been married to the man for a few months now. And it takes a considerable amount of time and effort to get a man of means to part with those means. You will both surely learn that one day."

Elizabeth did not sigh, but she did chance a glance at Mrs. Pennyworth from across the drawing room. Maggie's mother's face was one of polite disbelief and it helped calm Elizabeth's nerves somewhat. She hated that the women were forced to leave the dining room as soon as dinner was concluded, allowing the men to speak freely over wine - a rule that her father had always been particularly lenient on, but her husband had simply raised his eyebrows in a silent dare to make a scene in front of their guests.

She hated her husband, too, while she was in the midst of hating things. Her husband and his fingers and his mouth and his voice-

"Sir Thackery does seem like a generous man, does he not?" Amelia asked, forcing Elizabeth to wonder if she had missed part of the conversation.

Millicent wrinkled her nose. "A little old."

"Now, now, Millie," Mrs. Scott chided, "he can't be much older than our gracious host!"

Elizabeth twitched. There was _at least_ a fifteen year age difference, but she didn't trust herself to clarify without being exceptionally rude. She crossed the room to sit next to Mrs. Pennyworth.

Amelia giggled. "I can't very well picture Sir Thackery holding an umbrella."

Elizabeth set her hands in her lap. She had been wondering how long it would take for the Scott sisters to start talking about her wedding.

"Honestly, Eliza," Millie giggled with her sister. "It was so, so _endearing_ to see your groom holding an umbrella. For your comfort, I'm sure. Just like your father, hm? Such thoughtful men in your life. So caring. You are a lucky girl!"

Elizabeth smiled a little too broadly, bearing all of her teeth. "I've never been much for luck, myself."

Mrs. Scott sighed. "I _had_ been hoping the next wedding I would be attending would be for one of my daughters. But, if Lord Beckett can drop into Port Royal out of nowhere and swoop little Elizabeth up, than nothing is impossible, is it not?" She smiled at her hostess, but it looked like it hurt to do so. "He is a handsome man, Lady Beckett. And very well connected. I suspect you will be happy for a long time."

"Any man who can forgo keeping up appearances for solely a woman's comfort is quite a husband indeed," Amelia agreed with her mother. "Lucky, lucky Eliza."

Elizabeth's nostrils flared and she leveled Amelia with a quelling gaze. "Lord Beckett is not concerned with keeping up appearances because everyone else is concerned about keeping up with him." She raised an eyebrow, dared them to suggest otherwise. "And luck has nothing to do with it."

Mrs. Pennyworth touched her cheek. "Oh _my_."

xxxx

A butler closed the door on the last guest and Sir Thackery excused himself to his room. Elizabeth kept the smile on her face until he was out of sight. She sighed heavily and leaned her arm against the foyer wall.

"I hate them."

Lord Beckett turned his head in her direction. "Just how drunk are you?"

Elizabeth glared at him as best she could in her tired, partially drunken state. "Not. Drunk. Enough," she stressed. "Those girls are direct decedents of Lucifer, make no mistake. I wouldn't be surprised if it came to light that Mrs. Scott _was_ Lucifer, actually." She sighed again and pouted her lips. "Of all the plantation owners in the Caribbean, and you just had to invite the Scotts."

Lord Beckett opened his mouth once before snapping it closed quickly. His eyebrow twitched when he replied, "There's small choice in rotten apples."

Elizabeth bit back a grin and tried, desperately, to find her tired glare. "Oh, just, wonderful, Cutler. Really." She crossed her arms under her breasts and raised her chin. "How did I get so _lucky_ to have so _thoughtful_ a husband?"

"Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry." Lord Beckett stroked the back of his right hand down her cheek.

Her mouth dropped open. She grabbed his wrist and he raised his eyebrows and she hated herself for how easily she took up his dares. "If I be waspish, best beware my sting."

He pulled his wrist out of her grip fast enough that it surprised her before wrapping his hand around her forearm and pulling her flush against him. "My remedy is then," he whispered in her ear, "to pluck it out."

After having spent a grand total of four hours in the back yard training with her husband, Elizabeth had very little trouble removing herself from his hold. "Ay," she all but giggled, stepping around him and walking to the stairs. "If the fool could find where it lies."

"Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?" Lord Beckett drawled, following her up the steps. "In his tail."

He goosed her and Elizabeth gasped. She spun around and loomed over him, enjoying the height difference the steps provided. A coy smile played over her lips when she set her fingers on his throat, her thumb softly caressing his adam's apple. She could feel him swallow and he tilted his head until their noses touched. Her smile grew as his lips parted and pushed closer to hers.

Elizabeth trailed her hand down to his chest and gently pushed him back, her dark eyes sparkling so brightly as she hurried up the stairs they were almost golden. "In his tongue," she teased.

"Whose tongue?" Lord Beckett called after her when she reached the landing, his voice delightfully husky.

"Yours, if you talk of tails," she answered, glancing at him over her shoulder, enjoying how he looked so wonderfully frustrated as he followed after her. He deserved to be the frustrated one for once.

Elizabeth opened the door to their bedchamber and leaned a shoulder against the frame as he approached. "And so farewell."

Lord Beckett stopped so close to her in the doorway that she had to press her head against the frame to look him in the eyes.

"What, with my tongue in your tail?" He whispered, and she could smell the wine on his breath. "Nay, come again, Good Elizabeth; I am a gentleman."

"Well," she whispered back, pushing into him until their chests touched, "the lord doth protest too much, methinks."

Grinning, she swept into their bedroom. It was not even close to being from the right play, but she could hear the distinct - and very rare - sound of Lord Beckett chuckling as he closed the door. She felt an incredibly annoying surge of pride over the fact that she had made him chuckle and bit her lip to keep from smiling too brightly.

Struck by a sudden idea, Elizabeth rolled back her shoulders and glanced coyly at her husband. He was untying his cravat, eying her with very subtle curiosity.

"Would you…help me, my lord?" She asked, dropping her gaze the best she could to indicate the fastens of her gown running down her back. "Or, shall I send for one of the maids?"

Lord Beckett paused, his curious look losing any subtly, and slowly slid his cravat off his neck. He took a deep breath through his nose before nodding his consent and Elizabeth turned her head to face the wall, forcing herself not to watch him approach.

His hands rested on her hips for a too short moment before trailing up her back to the dip in-between her shoulder blades where the hooks and and laces started. He pressed a kiss against the base of her neck and then ripped the fastens apart, so suddenly and with so much force that Elizabeth gasped.

"Cut_ler_!" She reprimanded, spinning around to face him. The dress started to fall and she frantically grabbed it and held it up to her chest. "I liked this gown!"

He smirked at her, completely and totally unapologetic.

She glared. "You are developing an unhealthy obsession with ripping my clothes off my body!"

He shrugged a single, delicate shoulder. "I can certainly afford to replace them. Besides, there are worse vices." Lord Beckett dropped his voice to a near whisper when he said, "And many willing participants."

Elizabeth's mouth dropped open - again - and she could feel heat rush through her face and up to her ears and down her chest. She raised an index finger and thrust it at his nose. "If you are suggesting that you would simply seek out other women, I will-"

"You'll what?" Lord Beckett interrupted, brushing her hand aside and stepping in close to her.

She licked her lips and stared into his smiling eyes, as blue as the ocean. Murder them, she wanted to say. Kill you in your sleep, she thought. But there were flecks of green in his eyes and words caught in her throat at the sight of them. She let her dress fall to her ankles, leaving her only in her shift, and threw her arms around his shoulders, covering her mouth over his.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, pressing himself fully against her. The kiss was little more than a fight for dominance - desperate and angry and demanding. How dare he suggest what he suggested! How dare he think he has the right to rip her clothes off her body! Or invite people into their home she despises! Or give her _The Taming of the Shrew_! Or hold an umbrella for her in the pouring rain!

Their teeth clicked together and she laughed into his mouth.

Lord Beckett lifted her off the ground and grinned against her lips. "A convincing argument as always, Lady Beckett."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: **In Case You Missed It**: Lord and Lady Beckett were reciting lines from Shakespeare's _The Taming of the Shrew_, which is why the quality of the dialogue in this fic drastically improved there for a moment. Don't worry - by next chapter the quality will be back to its usual substandard level.

I had originally written this with Cutler getting the best of Elizabeth during their recital, but then this gif of Tom Hollander and Gemma Arteron from the movie _Byzantium_ showed up on my Tumblr dash and it inspired me to tweak things a little. Because Elizabeth's right - he does deserve to be the frustrated one for once!

Anyone here on Tumblr? I am admittedly new and bad at it, so I mostly just reblog pretty things. Follow me and I'll follow you, yeah? _Atouchofviolet_ because I'm totes orig.

My representation of a dinner party is probably only halfway accurate, but, I don't know. I kind of like it even if it is wrong, lol.

And about the Scott Sisters v. Umbrellas - they were considered a girly accessory at the time according to that there google.

**Thanks:** to DemonicSymphony, Lady Bluebelle Beckett, Lady Elizabeth Beckett, and the guest for taking the time to review. Won't you review as well? ;p

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"Petruchio: Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.  
Katherine: If I be waspish, best beware my sting.  
Petruchio: My remedy is then, to pluck it out.  
Katherine: Ay, if the fool could find where it lies.  
Petruchio: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.  
Katherine: In his tongue.  
Petruchio: Whose tongue?  
Katherine: Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell.  
Petruchio: What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman."


	20. Family Portraits

**Disclaimer**: Eh. It's a little heavy handed. BUT WHATEVER.

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**Chapter Nineteen: Family Portraits**

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The day after Sir Thackery departed Port Royal, a letter arrived from Rose Beckett sealed and addressed to Elizabeth. This in and of itself was not odd. Elizabeth and her mother-in-law were active in their correspondence, and Cutler had very little interest in monitoring the letters.

It was waiting for her on the table in the dining room, along with toast and coffee, the same breakfast she had requested the last three days in a row. Apparently Alex, tired of having his omelets sent back untouched, had preeminently given up.

Elizabeth munched on a piece of dry toast and unhurriedly opened the letter. She had slept in much later than normal and the sun was already shining over a calm blue sea outside the dining room's windows.

Esther poured her a cup of coffee and the smell of it had Elizabeth scrunching her nose.

Could coffee go bad? It smelled_ terrible_.

She blew a puff of air passed her lips and waved the maid away. "Just water this morning."

Her stomach turned and Elizabeth groaned quietly, pressing her hand over her mouth. Esther scrambled to clean up the coffee, but Elizabeth could bear it no longer.

"I'm going to get some fresh air," she announced, leaving her toast but taking the letter.

Her husband's grounds were not as expansive as the governor's mansion, but were just as well cared for. It was almost as if the grass was afraid to grow too unruly, lest Lord Beckett release the fury of the East India Trading Company upon it. The stroll through the garden helped settle her stomach, and the sunlight on her face calmed her nerves. The frangipani trees were in bloom, the beautiful white flowers with vibrant yellow centers enticing her to stop and smell. She smiled, running her index finger over the soft petals of a low hanging flower, and continued on her trek.

There was a wooden bench shaded by two large palm trees on the south facing side of the house. It had some of the loveliest views of the ocean on the property, a fact which Elizabeth often took advantage of, curling up on the bench with a book when the windows of the library just wouldn't do.

She sat down and began to read Rose's letter.

Halfway through, she gasped out loud.

xxxx

"Esther!" Elizabeth exclaimed, walking quickly through the house. It was nothing short of a Herculean effort that kept her from sprinting down the halls. "Esther!" She caught up with the young woman near Cutler's study.

"My lady?" Esther asked, her dark eyes wide and more than a little afraid. "Is everything all right?"

Elizabeth waved a hand dismissively; unfortunately, the dismissive hand she waved was holding the letter from Rose, so all she did was bring Esther's attention to it.

She held it behind her back. "You've worked for my husband for a while now?"

Esther nodded once, her unblinking eyes still owlishly large. "Since his lordship arrived in Port Royal."

"Right." Elizabeth took a breath and flashed the maid what she hoped was a calming smile. "Where might his lordship keep…certain documents? Or - oh! Portraits? Maybe. Anything that he might deem…_private_?"

Esther's mouth got very, very small. "My lady, I couldn't-"

"Don't worry," Elizabeth interrupted, using her hopefully calming smile again. "I promise I will take the full force of Lord Beckett's pout. _Wrath_!" Her laugh of "_ha_!" rang false but it seemed to placate Esther. She let her face fall into something more genuine and decidedly more desperate. "Please?"

Esther held her breath for a long moment before letting out a loud sigh that sounded like victory to Elizabeth's ears. "He keeps the door locked."

Elizabeth grinned and pulled a pin out of her hair. "Show me."

xxxx

The door to the room Esther had led Elizabeth opened after only a few seconds of effort. Elizabeth surveyed the room carefully before stepping inside. The only light came from behind a red curtain covering a small window. The room was barren, save for a decent sized cabinet in the far left corner and a pile of something covered by a white sheet against the wall nearest the door.

Elizabeth pulled back the curtain and decided to start with the hidden pile first, considering she wasn't sure how long it would take her to go through the entire cabinet if it was indeed filled with paper work like she expected. She took the sheet in her hand and slid it off the pile, letting it fall haphazardly to the floor.

She inhaled sharply, her curious gaze taking in her finding. It was a pile of portraits of varying sizes, stacked up right, one in front of the other as they leaned against the wall. The first portrait was of Cutler, and it was small enough that she could hold it in her hands. It must have been commissioned sometime before he was awarded his title; though he stood before the EITC flag, his wig was missing, and he seemed impossibly young. Since meeting her husband last January, she had found it exceedingly difficult to imagine him pre-lordship, pre-wig, pre-governor of The Company, as someone simply as young as she was. And yet she held the proof that he had been at one time _just_ Cutler Beckett, Rose's son, in her hands.

Her lungs tightened inside her chest, her eyes watering from the sudden lack of air. She shook her head and carefully set the portrait to the side.

She almost stopped breathing entirely when she saw what was behind it.

xxxx

Elizabeth waited until Lord Beckett had been home for half an hour before visiting him in his study. She left two manservants and the portrait in the hall before entering the room, letter in hand.

Lord Beckett was seated behind his desk. His eyes were closed and he was rubbing his index and middle fingers in small circles over his temples.

Her resolve wavered at the sight of him. She sucked on her lower lip and looked down at the letter in her hand, her rehearsed speech blanking from her mind.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat, raising her chin and bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet. "Well what?"

Lord Beckett gestured in her direction. "You are behaving as if you ate a bullfrog."

"I-" Elizabeth took a deep breath, forehead wrinkling. Was he saying she was jumpy? She was _not_ jumpy. "Beg your pardon?"

"What do you want, Elizabeth?"

Suddenly annoyed, she said, "It would seem congratulations are in order."

His gaze swept over her like he couldn't quite see her clearly.

She sighed and handed him his mother's letter.

Lord Beckett frowned, taking the letter cautiously in his ink stained fingers like he thought it might be contaminated with some untreatable disease. His frown lessoned as he read the parchment, recognition of his mother's handwriting and then of what the words meant sparking in his blue eyes.

He chuckled and set the letter on his desk. "Jonathan Beckett the third. How original."

She did not return his chuckle, frowning and placing her fists on her hips. "I did not know you had a brother," she said, tone bordering on accusing.

He shrugged a single shoulder. "You never inquired about siblings."

"This is surprising to me," she continued as if he hadn't spoken - hadn't stretched the truth, because she _had_ asked him what his family was like, even if she hadn't specifically used the word sibling. "Because I love…_your mother_-"

Half his mouth curled into a smirk.

"-and to find out that you are now an uncle-"

"Now?" Lord Beckett scoffed. "Jonathan has a mess of daughters. Bartholomew has children as well." He looked passed her and stared at the wall, eyebrow twitching. "I think."

"Two brothers?" Elizabeth asked and his eyes returned to her face.

He nodded once.

She turned on her heel and walked towards the door, pulling it open and motioning for the men to step inside. They carried the large portrait carefully between the two of them.

"Now, where did you get that?" His tone was sarcastic, but surprise was evident on his features.

"Set it on the desk, please," Elizabeth directed to the servants. To her husband she said, "I promised the maid that led me to your secret storage room that I would take the full brunt of your pouting."

"I do not pout," Lord Beckett pouted.

She rolled her eyes. "I was thinking of hanging this up. I have a portrait back home - my father's home, I mean - of myself as a child and both of my parents. I thought they might look nice side by side. But, I was hoping you would tell me who was who here."

The two servants bowed and left the room.

Elizabeth moved to stand beside his chair. She leaned over him to get a more direct view of the painting, her chest pressing against his shoulder. It was of a family of six. Cutler was young, seven or eight, and easily distinguishable among the children.

"Obviously, this is you," she pointed him out. "And Rose, of course. Your father, I'm assuming."

"Jonathan senior," Lord Beckett supplied. "My eldest brother Jonathan junior," he pointed at the oldest child who stood in front of his namesake. They were almost mirror images of each other - tall, with square jaws and brown eyes and flat cheeks.

"Bartholomew," was at least ten in the picture. He was a big boy, the heaviest set of all the children. He too had inherited his father's dominant facial features.

"And my sister, Jane." The only female child, she was the youngest and the one who looked most like Cutler. It was amusing to Elizabeth how the children seemed to split right down the middle, with the oldest two favoring their father and the youngest their mother.

"Does Jane have any children?" Elizabeth asked, smiling.

"No," Lord Beckett replied. "She's dead."

The smile fell from her lips. "Oh." She turned her head to look him in the eyes. "I am sorry."

"Why?" He asked, standing and brushing passed her. "You did not kill her."

Elizabeth sunk down in his seat, her groggy eyes watching him pour two snifters of brandy. "Was she murdered?"

"Fever," he said and took a sip of his drink. "Same one that took my father, actually." He held out the second drink for her, his eyebrows raised in a silent dare that she couldn't ever seem to refuse.

Though she took the snifter, she couldn't bring herself to actually raise it to her lips. The usually comforting scent of brandy had her stomach flipping. She grimaced, holding the glass against her knees and turning her face away.

The portrait sat neatly on Lord Beckett's otherwise cluttered desk, hiding whatever project she had caught him working on.

Elizabeth swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. "Your brothers were not at the wedding."

"Hm," he agreed. "They were not invited."

"What?" She scowled at the portrait, as if his brothers' painted faces could answer her. "Why not?"

"They serve no purpose," he said, shrugging a single shoulder once more.

Elizabeth frowned deeply. "They are your family."

"Exactly." He set his now empty glass on top of his father's painted face and leaned down until his the tip of his nose grazed hers.

She had an errant, dangerous thought to tilt her head and kiss his lips and end whatever argument she had wandered into. But her stomach was in knots and Lord Beckett's perfectly placed mask of cool control was slipping away, the violent, wild look taking over in its place. She found that all of the daring that had encouraged her to snoop, to dig, to find proof, had left her quite alone with the man she had been snooping on.

His breath was warm and tinged with liquor and she turned her nose away when he spoke. "_My_ family. _My_ business. Not yours. And, Elizabeth?" He tapped his index finger against the corner of the portrait. "If I wanted this displayed, it would be displayed. You are _not_ to go into that room again. And when I find out who took you there, they will be made into an example."

Her eyes stung and her stomach churned, but Elizabeth forced the tears and the vomit back long enough to glare at him. "Lord Beckett, you are being unfair!"

He stood to his full height. "Unfair? How will my reputation survive such an accusation?" He chuckled at his joke and took the snifter from her clenched fingers. "Really, Elizabeth. You are such a child."

She wanted to fight with him. She wanted to argue back, to insult him and prove her point. But he took a sip of brandy and the scent wafted over to her and her stomach heaved. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from spewing over his shoes - though it might have won the argument for her - and bolted out of the room.

xxxx

Elizabeth made it out the front door before she lost control over her stomach behind some decorative shrubbery. Calloused hands came from behind her, wiping the sweat off her brow and holding her hair back.

"Oh, Francie," Elizabeth groaned. "I think I've caught something."

The maid helped Elizabeth to her feet. "Were given, more like," she muttered.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, allowing the older woman to help her back inside.

"Let's get you in a bath," Francie answered, smiling gently.

Elizabeth nodded. "A bath sounds wonderful right now. And a nap. And a new husband, if you have the time."

"I'll see what I can do, my lady."

xxxx

After her bath, Elizabeth turned down an offer of toast from Francie, her stomach too queasy even for the thought of food. She dressed for bed and laid down, not bothering to plait her wet hair. Sleep did not come easily. She was angry and uncomfortable, and every position she tried on top of the mattress only seemed to upset her stomach more. Her mind reeled with everything she didn't get to say to Cutler. No, maybe it wasn't exactly right of her to snoop through his things, but he was so reluctant to part with any information about his past! And to receive a letter from Rose of nothing but detailed excitement and happiness at becoming a grandmother yet again? Well, what was Elizabeth to do? He had _nephews_! And he had never said anything! And, well, all she wanted was to confront him with undeniable proof.

All she wanted was to know him more. She was his wife, after all. Did that really deserve the full wrath of his disproportionate pouting?

The door to the bedroom opened and the noise pulled Elizabeth out of her slumber-less rest. Cutler lit the candle on his end table, his eyes sweeping over her in obvious appraisal.

"I was told you were ill," he said, his fingers working loose the cravat around his neck.

Elizabeth mustered a feeble glare. "I'm fine, thank you," she lied and rolled over on to her side. "And I would like to continue our convers - _no_."

She should _not_ have rolled over.

She crawled out of bed and retched into the chamber pot Francie had placed in easy reach for "just in case."

Her stomach empty of what seemed to be everything she had ever ingested in her life time, Elizabeth sat exhausted on the floor, her back against the bed and her eyes squinted open. With blurry vision, she could discern the outline of a glass of water. She reached for it with a shaking hand, but couldn't quite get it to her lips.

Cutler left the room only to return a few moments later with a servant in tow, who had apparently been tasked with the job of cleaning up her mess.

Elizabeth was finally able to convince her hands to put the glass to her lips. The lukewarm water soothed her burning throat. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the mattress. "I must have caught something at church the other day," she whispered.

Cutler didn't respond; he busied himself with getting ready for bed.

She took another sip of water, set the glass down on her end table, and carefully slid back into bed. By the time the servant returned the chamber pot, she was already asleep.

xxxx

The next day, Elizabeth awoke alone but feeling much better. She still struggled with an overall sleepiness, but her stomach was no longer churning. She chomped on some dry toast and tasked a servant with retrieving the portrait she wanted to display from the Governor's mansion.

She underestimated the ease with which the portrait would be located because it was hours before she was informed of its arrival. The wall in the dining room opposite the windows was empty, so she took a seat and pointed.

At dinner that night, the only thing Lord Beckett said was, "You've never mentioned her name."

Elizabeth smiled at the portrait. It had been commissioned before her mother grew ill; she sat on the settee next to Weatherby, a halo of blond hair framing her glowing face. Elizabeth had only been about five at the time, and she sat on the floor between her parents' feet. "Eloise. Her father was French."

She had vague memories of her mother speaking French, of thinking it was beautiful, but incomprehensible. Mrs. Swann would laugh and pick her daughter up in her arms and tell her stories in English instead, and Elizabeth's favorites were often the ones passed down from her grandfather, about French pirates on the high seas. Perhaps if her mother had lived a few more years, Elizabeth wouldn't have such trouble deciphering books about haunted carriage rides.

"She was very ill when she was pregnant with my brother," Elizabeth told her bowl of barely touched soup. "He wasn't…he didn't…he was not alive when he was born and she died not long after."

Tears bit at her eyes and she excused herself from dinner, unsure of where the swell of emotions came from and unwilling to share them with Lord Beckett.

When she ventured downstairs the next morning for breakfast, the portrait of Cutler's family was hanging next to the one of her's and Esther was pouring her a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, milady," Esther greeted with a nod of her head.

Elizabeth smiled. "I suppose it is."

But then the scent of coffee hit her nose and her stomach twisted. She groaned, covered her mouth, and ran out of the house.

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**Author's Notes**: So when I started this story, I had Cutler's backstory all planned out in my head. BUT THEN I found the pirates wiki and apparently his canon backstory was so similar to mine that I've just assimilated to it instead (but keeping some of my original plans). Which is why his mother's name is wrong, but all of his siblings names are right.

This chapter calls back to two other chapters: "Nothing Changed" and "Washed Away" ;p tee hee.

Thanks for reading, reviewing, alerting, favoriting. Please feel free to leave a review or drop me a pm. I have the next few chapters written. Well, the very rough first drafts written. And I could use some encouragement as I start the editing process! :)

**Spoiler** for the next few chapters: Oh, hello, canon! How are you? You look good for ten years old, I gotta say. But you could use some touch-ups. Don't worry. This won't hurt. That much.


	21. On the Horizon

**Disclaimer:** Ya'll know I don't own this, right?

Can you believe we've made it to chapter 20?!

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**Chapter Twenty: On the Horizon**

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"You must promise not to say a word."

"Of course, my lady, but it is…please, if I am free to say so: this _is_ good news, your ladyship. This is exactly what is supposed to happen."

Elizabeth turned her attention to the window. She pouted her lips, hands twisting in her lap, and watched the palm tree branches move in the wind.

Francie cleared her throat. "Perhaps you might be more comfortable in the library? Lord Beckett did get in those new books from London only yesterday, and I know you were looking forward to going through them. I can bring you some toast and tea, my lady?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Yes, that sounds…yes." She rose from her seat. "Yes, thank you, Francie. I would like some marmalade, please, if Alex will oblige my indulgence today."

They shared a smile. Francie lifted a hand, her fingertips hovering in the space beside Elizabeth's cheek. Elizabeth's smile faded quickly, and Francie noticed, her own freezing awkwardly on her face. She inhaled sharply, patted her hand against her bonnet, and curtsied.

Elizabeth watched Francie rush out of the room with painfully wide eyes. She took a deep breath when the door closed, surprised beyond words that a ladies help maid (albeit her very favorite one) would think she had the right to touch her so intimately.

And selfishly wishing that she had.

xxxx

The books Lord Beckett had ordered were either written in languages she only partially understood or dealt solely in the factual elements behind myths and legends. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Of course. Even his books about fantastical things were not allowed to be fantastical.

She thumbed through a few pages of one book about dutch legends written entirely in spanish. It seemed unnecessarily complicated, but was nevertheless interesting enough that it took her mind off of a date in May, nearly seven months away.

At least, for a time.

But then her toast and marmalade and tea were all gone, and the book sat open in her lap. And the story of the _Flying Dutchman_ and its captain could no longer keep her mind occupied, written in spanish or otherwise.

She placed her book on the settee and left the library, fear churning in her gut. Or maybe it was just the marmalade. Because, of what did she have to be afraid? Hadn't she achieved exactly what she was supposed to achieve? Just because it hadn't been a goal she had been focused on, or consciously working towards, did not make it any less of a necessity. A requirement, even. She _was_ his wife, _th_e Lady Beckett, and this _was_ her duty.

Elizabeth sought out Francie and asked that a basket be put together. "I would like to call on Mrs. Dunwell. As soon as possible."

The maid nodded and obeyed, consulting with Alex and putting together a lovely gift basket for the widow Dunwell - freshly baked bread, fruit and vegetables just harvested from the Beckett's own garden the day before. "And a few of those muffins you like," the cook winked. Elizabeth did her best to smile graciously at him.

But when Lady Beckett and Francie reached the Dunwell's home, Miss Perry met them at the door and apologized, saying that Mrs. Dunwell was not currently up for visitors. Elizabeth left a note and the majority of food with Winifred and asked Francie if she was up for a walk to the fort.

The sun was relentless and cruel as it bared down on them. The air was warm and still and every breath in took more effort than usual. Perspiration gathered on her brow and she dabbed it away with the back of her hand, relief washing over her in a cold wave when they arrived at her father's office.

Governor Swann was, of course, delighted by the surprise of his daughter visiting him.

"My dear, my dear," he cried, ushering her into a seat. "You have not dropped in on me in this way in quite some time. Not that I mind, of course. No, no, love to have you."

"You're not busy, Father?" Elizabeth asked, offering him a muffin.

He took it with a smile and sat down across from her. "Not for my favorite daughter. Never too busy for you, my dear. Now tell me," he took a bite of his muffin, and it was quite a bit of time before he was able to swallow and finish his sentence, "what brings you here?"

She tried very hard to smile at her knees. "I…I need to tell someone but I am rather afraid of the words."

"Elizabeth?" Weatherby asked, his voice indicating his rising alarm.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Elizabeth was very still in her seat, fighting against her shoulders inclination to sag forward in defeat. "Father, I…I'm with child."

Weatherby sighed in relief before laughing in delight. "Darling! That's wonderful!"

She nodded.

"Elizabeth?" He reached out a hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist.

Swallowing, she forced her gaze to meet his.

His eyes were as bright as his smile. "Elizabeth, it _is_ wonderful."

"I-I just…" Elizabeth fidgeted, glancing down at her knees again. "I keep thinking of Mother."

"Oh, yes." Weatherby squeezed her wrist. "She would have wanted to be here for you. She would be so delighted for you, so proud of you. As I am."

Elizabeth blinked away the sudden stinging behind her eyes. "Father, I'm afraid," she admitted in a whisper. "I am so afraid. Mother was sick, very sick, when she was pregnant with-"

"Sweetheart," Weatherby set his hand on her cheek and encouraged her to look at him. "She was sick long before she was with child. You - _you_ are young and healthy." He scooted to the edge of his seat and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Everything will be fine."

Elizabeth sniffed and quickly wiped away an errant tear, more than a little mortified it had managed to slip down her face.

"Now," Weatherby sat back in his chair. "I take it my son does not yet know?"

"No, not yet."

He nodded, mulling it over as he chewed on his muffin. "You'll tell him when you're ready."

It wasn't a question, but Elizabeth agreed with him all the same.

There was a quiet knock on the door seconds before it swung open. "Governor?"

Elizabeth and Weatherby glanced up, mildly surprised by the sudden intrusion.

Lieutenant Groves ducked his head in apology before speaking, "Admiral Norrington is requesting your presence up on the battlements, sir."

Elizabeth grabbed her basket and motioned for Francie, attempting to excuse herself and head back home, but Lieutenant Groves spoke again.

"Lord Beckett is with him, my lady. I'm sure if," Groves cleared his throat, "if he knew you were here, he would request your presence as well."

Elizabeth looked at him archly, already suspicious. She hadn't noticed Mr. Mercer following her around, but that didn't mean that she _hadn't_ been followed. Pursing her lips, she turned her head to consult with her father for his opinion.

"Very well." He held out a hand and smiled at her. "Come, Elizabeth. We must not keep that son of mine waiting for long, now, hm?"

xxxx

To his credit, Lord Beckett did seem to be relatively surprised by his wife's appearance at Governor Swann's elbow. Elizabeth was partially mollified by that, but she still eyed him with a cautious skepticism that did not go unnoticed by her husband.

"Governor," Admiral Norrington stepped forward, holding out a spyglass. "We received word of a pirate ship nearby."

"Nearby?" Weatherby repeated, taking the spyglass and walking to the edge of the battlements. "Just how near?"

James pointed and Weatherby followed with the spyglass.

"Approaching, sir."

"And there's confirmation that it's a pirate ship?" Weatherby asked, frowning deeply.

Elizabeth couldn't see anything with only her squinted eyes. She raised a hand to shield them, wishing she had brought a parasol. For an October afternoon, the air was unseasonably warm, the sun unusually bright.

"One of my captains recognized its colors," Lord Beckett said, watching his wife. She had started to fan herself with her hand. "Unfortunately a ship with which we are well acquainted: the _Harkaway_."

"The _Harkaway_?" Weatherby gave the spyglass back to the admiral. "What kind of pirates sail straight into a known navy port?"

"The kind which are not worried about the navy," replied Lord Beckett.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and took as deep a breath as she could, cursing both the inventor of the corset and her vanity in requesting Francie tie it tighter than normal. She had been afraid that _It_ would be noticeable by simply sight alone.

Weatherby sighed."Prepare for battle. But let's send out a ship first, hm? Keep the pirates from making landfall at all costs."

Admiral Norrington spared a glance at Lord Beckett before inclining his head, spinning on his heel, and barking orders out at sailors.

"Elizabeth," her husband's voice forced her to open her eyes. He held out a hand to her and she took it, her breathing ragged.

"Yes, well," Weatherby coughed. "I have things. To do. Many of them. To do."

Lord Beckett raised an eyebrow at the governor's retreating form; Elizabeth ducked her head, her cheeks turning red from something other than the sun. He guided her down the battlements until they were well out of ear shot of any of the sailors running around, and up several stairs to one of the tallest points of the fort. When he let her go, she reached for a column and used it for balance.

It was getting harder to breathe with each passing moment.

"You'll need to evacuate," Lord Beckett said from her side, both of his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the ocean.

She tried to spot the approaching pirate ship, but all she could see was endless ocean, a cloudless sky and the harsh glare of the sun off the water. She closed her eyes and braced herself against the column.

"Evacuate? To where, exactly?"

"Inland," he answered, his tone of voice suggesting she had missed something obvious. "I'm sure if we send word to our dear friends the Scotts immediately they would be overjoyed to receive you when you arrive."

Elizabeth grimaced, placing her free hand over her stomach. "_You_ are not evacuating with me?"

"No, I suspect that Jolly Roger will be up for negotiating not long after his invasion, and I would hate to deny him the opportunity." He smirked at her and she tried to return to gesture.

Elizabeth took a deep, shuddering breath, finding it difficult to keep her eyes open. "You have so little faith in our sailors as to send me away from my home preemptively?"

"I have no doubt that my sailors will put a damper on Jolly Roger's ill-thought out plans. However, it seems wise to deny him any advantage he may be able to gain before negotiations have been made."

Elizabeth's eyes slid closed just as Lord Beckett fiddled with the lace around his wrist.

"It is not outside the realm of possibility that he might try to use you as leverage."

Her hand slipped away from the stone column. "I can't breathe."

"Honestly, Elizabeth, you are my wife. This should hardly come to you as a shock."

She managed to suck in one last breath before she lost all control over her body. Elizabeth fainted and fell off the side of Fort Charles.

xxxx

**A/N**: I know that this chapter is a little short. Originally, I had it written as part of the next chapter, but then it eclipsed 6,000 words, so I decided to split it up. But hey! The next chapter! 4,000ish words. Bring snacks. ;P

Also, I was listening to a lot of Passenger (Let Her Go), Snow Patrol (The Lightning Strikes, Open Your Eyes and The Last Time w/Taylor Swift) and Matt Nathanson (the whole Some Mad Hope album, but Gone specifically) when writing this chapter and the few that follow it. Consider this a warming? lol.

**Thank you** so much for sticking with me this far. If you've reviewed/alerted/favorited - thanks double! You have encouraged me to keep on, even when I feel like jabbing forks into my eyes. Please keep reading and reviewing and alerting and favoriting because we are just getting started. :D

**Spoiler**: Oh please, like you guys don't know what's coming next.


	22. The Storm

**Disclaimer**: Lots of gently used stuff from _Curse of the Black Pearl_. I'm earning my "canon-divergent" badge!

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So I was talking to the plot and I was like: Plot. I have all these plans, you know? I want Beckabeth babies and angsty Will and I think it will be just peaches.

And the plot was like: That's great, dear. Have you met Jack?

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**Chapter Twenty One: The Storm**

Life returned inside her bones. Gagging on salt water and gasping for air, Elizabeth was alive.

"It's all right, love," a deep voice rumbled, fingers dancing over her wet hair.

She squinted up at the unfamiliar man poised above her. His deeply tanned face was framed by a wild, dark, wet mane of braids and knots. And his eyes, the blackest eyes she had ever seen, were roaming over her, alight with concern. Behind him, the clear blue sky was rapidly disappearing, giant storm clouds forming over the island.

Who was this man?

What had happened?

Her eyes widened in terror, her hands frantically reaching for her midsection. That fall from the fort! Was she - was the…the baby? Could it have survived the fall? She pressed gently against herself, unsure of what to be looking for, but too worried not to look.

The man's dark eyes mimicked hers, widening in fearful understanding. His hands hovered over her stomach, fingers waving in the air inches over her shift.

…where had her dress and corset gone?

"I'm sure _that_'s all right as well," the man said, his upper lip curling over his golden teeth.

A sword appeared directly over Elizabeth's head, pointed at the man's neck.

"Stand back," Admiral Norrington ordered.

The man raised his hands in surrender and obeyed.

"Elizabeth!" Her father called out, reaching her side and helping her to her feet. "Elizabeth, my goodness! Are you all right, my dear?"

A platoon of sailors surrounded them on the edge of the dock, each with their guns drawn and aimed at the man who had fished her from the water.

Lord Beckett was at the forefront. He eyed her up and down, taking in the entirety of her wet and barely dressed form. The wind blew in, warm off the ocean, and she shivered involuntarily. He shrugged out of his coat and offered it to her.

"Call them off," she urged, taking it from his hands but not moving to put it on.

The left corner of his lips twitched, his eyes darting to her savior. "No. I do not think so."

"Admiral Norrington," Elizabeth tried again, turning the most apologetic look she could muster on James.

Her father pulled the coat out of her hands and forced it over her shoulders.

"Admiral Norrington, do you really intend to kill my rescuer?"

He pursed his lips in thought before nodding once, signaling the men to lower their weapons.

The dark eyed man pressed his palms together and nodded in gratitude.

"Not so quickly now, Admiral," Lord Beckett said. "This man is a pirate, one the East India Trading Company is all too familiar with."

Weatherby's hands tightened on Elizabeth's elbows. "Hang him!" He ordered.

"Keep your guns on him, men," Admiral Norrington amended. "Gillette, fetch some irons."

Lord Beckett was smiling ever so slightly as he walked between the man who saved her life and the platoon of sailors. "Jack Sparrow. I'm afraid I've given you too much credit - I always thought you were smart enough _not_ to wash up in a navy port."

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you please," he clarified. "And in my defense: I did not know you were in the caribbean, Beckett. Rather thought you fancied Africa."

"It's _Lord_ Beckett now, actually."

"These are his, sir," a portly sailor announced, bending down to grab Jack's effects off the dock. He proudly held them up to Lord Beckett, who sniffed at them in distaste before nodding his head in the admiral's direction.

Admiral Norrington immediately responded, holding up Jack's flintlock pistol for inspection. "No additional shots or powder," he proclaimed, looking more than a little amused.

He handed the pistol back to the portly sailor and picked up a small box. He opened it with one hand. "A compass that doesn't point north," he all but sneered.

Both of Lord Beckett's eyebrows shot up on his forehead so high they almost disappeared into his wig line.

Jack grimaced.

Lord Beckhand fooled a finger and the admiral obediently gave him the broken compass before reaching for the rest of Jack's effects.

He slid Jack's sword out of its sheath. "And I half expected it to be made of wood. You are the worst pirate I have ever heard of."

Captain Sparrow grinned and wagged his index finger in the admiral's face. "But you _have_ heard of me."

Lord Beckett snapped the lid of the compass closed and shook it lightly once before opening it again. He stared down at it for a moment before glancing at Elizabeth, a deep frown on his lips.

"Hang him," Weatherby said again.

Admiral Norrington nodded, grabbing Jack by the elbow and pulling him to the other end of the dock.

Elizabeth glared at her husband; he shook the compass, opened it, and frowned at her once more. With a roll of her eyes, she shrugged out of her husband's coat and her father's arms and approached James.

"Admiral Norrington, I really must protest!"

"Arrest him," James ordered a sailor holding the irons, pointedly ignoring Elizabeth.

She refused to be ignored. She positioned herself directly in front of the admiral and raised her chin. "This man saved my life."

Admiral Norrington's eyes searched hers. "It…it is out of my hands," he said quietly, almost a whisper, and she would have been annoyed with him if she hadn't understood exactly what he was trying to tell her.

"Lord Beckett!" She tried again, pushing passed the admiral and a dozen or so sailors. Her husband was still busy trying to fix the compass. "Lord Beckett, please," she begged, reaching for his forearm.

He looked down at where she was touching him before sighing slightly and resigning himself to looking at her face. His lips were pursed and his eyes were dark and she swallowed down her hesitation.

"My lord, he saved my life." She forced herself to hold eye contact, refusing to flinch away. "Please. Please spare his."

"Elizabeth," he began, his jaw tight, "if he were any other man, I would throw him a parade."

"S'a shame," Jack called out from the other side of the platoon. "I love a good parade." He raised his chained wrists and waved.

Elizabeth glared at him, desperate for him to stop speaking before he quite literally got himself hanged. He mimicked locking his lips and throwing away the key.

Lord Beckett casually pulled his arm away from his wife and strolled towards the captured pirate. "It is quite the coincidence, _Captai_n Sparrow, that you should wash up on my shore just as the _Harkaway_ is embarking on an ill-advised invasion."

Jack visibly flinched. "The _Harkaway_?" He repeated, his nose twitching. "Nope, never heard of it."

Lord Beckett's responding smile managed to be absolutely terrifying in its near nonexistence. Jack dropped his eyes to the chains around his wrists.

"My lord," Elizabeth hurried to stand between the two men. "Please, my lord, you would not really condemn to death the man who saved my life?"

Lord Beckett seemed to consult the broken compass. "Unfortunately, it would appear that Captain Sparrow has yet to outlive his usefulness."

Elizabeth, completely surprised, took a deep breath through her nose and pressed her lips together in a vain attempt to keep her smile from splitting her face in two.

Admiral Norrington shared a look of absolute and total shock with Governor Swann that lasted for only a few seconds before the older man recovered.

"Throw him in the fort," Weatherby demanded. "He might have some information about this Jolly Roger."

Admiral Norrington began barking orders, sending the majority of navy men back to work preparing for the pirate ship on the horizon. The sailors sprung into action. Two of them grabbed Jack by each armpit and dragged him backwards off the dock, the heels of his boots scratching across the wood.

Jack could only shake his head and grimace at his captors. "Never heard of him, mate, so go easy on the goods, yeah?"

The dock emptied until only Elizabeth and Lord Beckett remained. She let herself take several long, steadying breaths, trying very hard to reign in her disbelief and relative happiness. Sitting in jail was decidedly not as good as being set free, but under the circumstances, a victory was a victory. And it bought her time to work on Cutler.

She opened her mouth to thank him just as he snapped the compass closed.

"Mr. Mercer," said Lord Beckett in an eerily tranquil tone.

The older man appeared at the end of the dock, and Elizabeth was caught off guard by how close he had been the entire time. He approached the couple and bowed his head.

"Make sure he talks," Lord Beckett ordered and it was amazing to Elizabeth how his monotone, calm voice could shatter all of her good will.

"No," Elizabeth whispered, watching Mr. Mercer leave to do just as he was told. "No!" Elizabeth said again, louder this time, and turned on her husband. "No, you can't - you said-"

"Mr. Mercer is not going to kill Sparrow," Lord Beckett interrupted, stepping passed her to walk off the dock. "I did not order it. He is simply going to…_encourage_ him to part with information we may soon find valuable."

As if to exemplify his point, the wind blew in off the ocean again, and Elizabeth frowned at the horizon. She could see a ship sailing, but it seemed like little more than a pinprick in the distance. She snatched Lord Beckett's coat off the ground and ran to catch up to him.

"Where are you going?" She asked, forcing her arms through the coat sleeves.

He shook the compass in his hands. "To my office. The _Harkaway_ should be here in less than an hour and I mean to be prepared." He flipped the lid open and frowned at it again.

The last bit of sunlight slipped behind black, swollen rain clouds, casting their trek between the fort and the EITC offices in pre-mature darkness.

She held his coat tight over her chest and tried not to shiver as the warm air fanned across her cold skin. "You cannot mean to have Sparrow tortured and imprisoned for doing nothing more than simply saving my life."

Lord Beckett huffed lightly. "Nothing more? He has a list of crimes a mile long, Elizabeth, starting with the most egregious: he robbed me of a ship full of cargo some ten years ago, and I have been meaning to extract payment from him since."

"And saving the life of your wife is not payment extracted enough?"

They turned a corner, following along the path the fort allowed, and thunder boomed off in the distance.

Lord Beckett turned the compass over, repeatedly poking the back of its case. "One good deed does not pay off his debts."

Elizabeth's nostrils flared. She dug her heels into the ground and grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop walking and look at her. "Is that all I'm worth to you? My value is less than that of cargo stolen over a decade ago?"

Lord Beckett wrenched his arm away from her, that violent, wild look creeping in over his features. "Your value is negligible at best," he whispered, his lips thin and tight over his teeth.

Elizabeth snarled. "So what? If Sparrow had not have been there to fish me out of the water, would you have just let me drown?"

He craned his neck until his face was inches from hers and Elizabeth swallowed. She was not sure what she would do if this man - her husband, the father of her unborn child - admitted that he would have let her drown instead of suffering the inconvenience of her rescue.

She thrusted out her chin and forced herself to seek out his blue eyes, but they were far from reassuring. "If that man you just sent off to jail hadn't-"

"Oh, enough. _Enough_!" Lord Beckett had never raised his voice to her before, and the shock of it, the fear of what he _might_ yell, kept her from immediately lashing out. "I am familiar with your Champion for the Poor, Impoverished and Unjustly Accused act. And I have had_ enough_."

"Act?" Elizabeth repeated, anger returning in full force. There was no one around them - the navy too preoccupied with preparing for an invasion and the citizens bunkering down in their houses at the sight of the storm rolling in - but even the appearance of the whole town would not have dampened her ire. "This is not an act! This is who I am! You would not have married me if I was anything less!"

Lord Beckett's entire demeanor changed. He stood back from her, his left eyebrow twitching, and a surprised smile crossed his lips. "Pardon?"

He chuckled, really chuckled, and all of her anger was replaced with an uncomfortable mixture of shame and embarrassment that settled heavily inside her chest.

"You think I married you because of your idiotic ideals on social justice? That _you_, Elizabeth, were the first pretty face with an opinion I had ever met and I just had to have you?"

She dropped her eyes to the bronze buttons of his waistcoat. "No," she said, struggling to save face. "No. I know that…you married me because it was a non-hostile way of carving a path towards my father's authority here in Port Royal."

"That's right!" Lord Beckett sounded like a parent praising a child for correctly answering a question. "Marrying you was a strategic business choice. So, whatever delusion you are currently under, I can assure you of this: I have known prettier and smarter girls than you, but I chose _you_ because of your _connection_s. Do you understand me, Elizabeth?"

It was too much to take in too short a period of time. Realizing that she was pregnant, falling off the bloody fort, being terrified that she had lost the baby she hadn't even known that she had wanted in the first place, fighting for the life of her savior, her blackguard of a husband's angry words…it was more than Elizabeth could to take. Tears welled up behind her eyes. They stung when she let them fall.

"I swear, Elizabeth, you are wasting your tears if you think they'll change my mind about Sparrow-"

"It's not about Jack!" She yelled, glaring at him with watery eyes. "It's you! There's two of you!"

Lord Beckett blinked at her, his mouth twitching. "What are you on about?"

"There's two different versions of you and I never know which one I am going to get!" She furiously wiped the tears off her face before pointing an accusing finger at him. "One day you joke with me, you play chess with me, you secretly donate money to widows. You sword fight with me and quote Shakespeare with me and ask me about my mother.

"And the very next day, you're distant and cold and mean. You threaten me for trying to learn more about you. You have me followed and try to ruin my friendships and you go days without even speaking to me!"

She sniffled loudly and fruitlessly wiped at her face, too many tears falling to push them away. "There is two of you. There's _Lord_ Beckett and there is _Cutler_ Beckett and I'm tired of not knowing which one I'm going to be dealing with."

Lightning flashed, illuminating their isolated section of the fort, moments before thunder boomed so loudly it seemed to shake even the ground beneath their feet.

"I do not have time for this," Lord Beckett sneered, hurrying away from her.

Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand, fighting valiantly against the onslaught of sobs rising up in her throat. She knew what he meant. She knew what would happen if she let him walk away. But she was tired and she was scared…and maybe, in the long run, she didn't need him to have time for her…

Steeling herself, gathering up what was left of her resolve, Elizabeth rolled back her shoulders and chased after him.

"Listen to me!" She grabbed at his shirt sleeve, yanking hard and trying to force him to comply. "You will listen to me! I-"

"Do you know what this is?" He demanded, spinning around to face her so quickly she lost hold of his sleeve. He pressed the compass into her hands and she furrowed her brow.

"A broken compass?" She answered, more than a little confused by the sudden change of conversation. Frowning, she lifted the lid, and watched the needle as it spun around three times before it stopped to point directly in front of her.

He peered down over the lid, smirking when he saw where the needle had frozen. "Just because it does not point north does not mean it is broken. No, _this_ compass points to what you want most in the world."

Elizabeth blushed and snapped it closed.

"And it is my ticket…my way to complete control over the seas." He took the compass back from her, holding it up at eye level and slowly turning it in his fingers. "The way to keep men like Sparrow from walking free, or idiots like Jolly Roger from attempting to get my attention."

She quirked a brow at him. "The compass?"

He hmmed and licked his lips. "Tell me, Elizabeth, what do you know of Davy Jones?"

"Davy Jones?" Elizabeth echoed, pressing her palm against her forehead. Thunder boomed, shaking the ground again, and Lord Beckett took her by the elbow and forced her to walk in the direction of his office. "Well, it's just a legend, isn't it? A ghost story to scare children? Commit a crime at sea and suffer in the locker. It isn't real."

"Ah, a legend and a ghost story, yes," he agreed in the same tranquil monotone that had ordered Mr. Mercer to question Jack Sparrow. "But it is real all the same."

Elizabeth made a face of pure disbelief.

"And what's more - the still beating heart of Davy Jones is safely buried on an island somewhere and with this," he held up the compass with his free hand, "I can find it. Whoever controls the heart of Davy Jones controls the sea, Elizabeth. And I will no longer be forced to suffer fools."

Elizabeth stopped walking, pulling her elbow from his grasp. "Is this your way of telling me that you plan on leaving?"

The wind blew hard, the wet skirt of her shift billowing against her calves. Lord Beckett exhaled quietly, taking a moment to straighten his posture before turning to face her.

"Is this it then?" Elizabeth continued, anger and betrayal creeping over her in equal measure. "Once you have the heart, will you even bother returning? Or will you just leave me, your wife of negligible value, behind? I'm assuming, of course, that with absolute control over the seas at your disposal, my father's limited authority here in Port Royal loses its appeal."

He clasped his hands behind his back and inclined his head. "You would not be wrong."

Something very close to her heart squeezed so tight it felt like it might shatter.

She nodded, clenching her jaw and pushing her wet, stringy hair off her face. "Very well. I can't exactly say that I'm surprised. Port Royal comes under attack and you are planning a great escape in which you only save yourself."

His nostrils flared. "Elizabeth-"

"Oh, no, not _just_ yourself, you're right," Elizabeth raised held up a flat palm to stop him from interrupting. "Mr. Mercer will be with you, I'm sure."

Lord Beckett exhaled in exasperation. "What do you want, Elizabeth?"

She chuckled humorously and raised her shaking hands to gesture between the two of them. "I want you to love me! I want you to be _capable_ of love! I have lived every day of my life knowing without a shadow of a doubt that my father loves me and I want the same thing for this baby!"

Judging by how large his eyes grew, Elizabeth realized she needed to explain herself. "Right. I'm with child. Or, at least I was before I took that tumble off the fort. So not only did Jack Sparrow save the life of your wife, but also the life of your first born child, but do lets send him off to jail and to suffer at the hands of your loyal Mr. Mercer!"

The storm clouds opened. The rain was freezing and felt strange mixed with the warm air blowing in off the ocean. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to forget the last time the two of them stood before each other in the pouring rain. Tried to forget the way he looked when he held an umbrella over her and promised to love her until death do they part.

Empty promises and hollow threats…that was all their marriage had been.

"Are you certain?" Lord Beckett's voice seemed to echo in the air around them, as hollow and empty as his word had ever been.

"That you unjustly sent Sparrow off to jail and-"

"No," he interrupted, squinting at her through the rain. "No. Are you certain that you are pregnant?"

Elizabeth huffed. "Why? Am I suddenly worth more to you if I am? Is my value any less negligible if I bear you a child?"

"You know that I," Lord Beckett began too loudly, his index finger in her face. He swallowed and pointed at her shoes instead. "You know that it is important to me to have a son who will inherit my title."

"Then rest assured, I shall do everything in my power to give birth to a girl!"

He tucked his teeth in-between his lips, his eyes scanning her face.

Elizabeth turned her head, pulling his coat tight against her chest and closing her eyes. She didn't want him to study her. She didn't want him to know what she was feeling. She wasn't even sure that _sh_e knew what she was feeling, except the desperate urge to cry and the insistent desire to fight against the tears.

But what did it matter if she cried now? It was dark and it was raining and it wasn't as if she had held back before.

She sniffed and tucked her chin to her chest. "So you'll go off and find the heart of your legend. Because that's - that's all you love: power and money. Isn't it? And I, I feel bad for you. I do. Because I don't even think you love yourself.

"And I'll - I'll stay here, shall I? Or perhaps I'll go off in search of someone who wants _my_ heart. Because you certainly don't."

He stepped backwards and the movement drew her attention. The rain ran off the corners of his hat in steady streams, providing only the barest of protection for his wig that sat damp on the top of his head. His blue eyes were blank. Any of the emotions that she could normally read so easily were gone - there was no joke, no dare, no wildness.

There was nothing.

Elizabeth's lip trembled.

"If you were to leave right now," he whispered, "I would not stop you."

That tightness near her heart pulled so hard it snapped in half. Her shoulders slumped forward and she covered her mouth with her hand in a vain attempt to hold back her cries. She closed her eyes to keep from seeing him standing in front of her, as wet as the day they were married, making a vow she had no doubt he actually intended to keep.

Elizabeth took a deep, shuddering breath, and turned away from him. "What a terrible thing to say."

And he didn't follow her, couldn't even be bothered to call out her name, when she ran away.

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**Author's Notes:** **Altogether now:** _What if the storm ends, and I don't see you as you are now ever again? The perfect halo of gold hair and lightning sets you off against the planets last dance._**  
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**Thanks:** for reading, and especially to _Lady Elizabeth Beckett_ and all four guests for reviewing, or if you alerted/favorited. Please keep commenting! Life has been really just crazy busy, but reviews? Oh man, do they guilt me into posting. Speaking of which!

**Directing the blame at someone else:** This would have been up earlier if it had been up to me! But, alas! Ff.n was down!

Also, I realize that every time the Lord and Lady argue it seems to be raining. But no, this isn't MIB2. It isn't raining just because Elizabeth is sad. It's raining here because the Harkaway is approaching and apparently that's how Jolly Roger rolls.

Don't forget to review! ;o)


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